


Imprisoned In My Heart

by capriciouslouis



Series: IIMH Universe [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-29 18:30:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 63,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capriciouslouis/pseuds/capriciouslouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis Tomlinson never imagined that his psychology degree would land him a job in prison. Neither did he expect that he would form such an instant and irreversible connection with Harry Styles, a boy haunted by the memory of the crime he committed. Louis never expected that they could come to need each other so much, or that he could ever fall for someone who had done such a terrible thing. But can love escape through the bars of a cell?</p>
<p> <a>Russian Translation</a> :) Thanks to YourPerfectSky for translating this for me!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 Funnily enough, Louis Tomlinson had never included prison on his list of places that he expected to be spending a significant amount of time in.

 Luckily for him, he wasn’t locked away in one of the cells. When he’d originally chosen psychology as a career option, he’d never have guessed that his unusual flair for it would land him a job in a prison.

 It wasn’t a particularly  _high security_ prison; none of the offenders in there had done anything serious. It was mostly just petty theft, the odd fraud, a couple of hit and runs here and there. Nothing too major. For that Louis was thankful; he wasn’t sure he could have coped trying to psychoanalyse a group full of terrifying thugs. Still, he must have looked pretty apprehensive anyway, because as he wandered along the gloomy corridors, briefcase in hand, the security guard – a tall, good-looking guy a few years his junior who had cheerfully stated his name as Liam – was making conversation with him. It looked like he already had a friend; he felt pretty proud of himself. His mum would be as delighted as she was when he had moved schools and instantly slotted into a friendship group.

 She hadn’t been overly keen on his placement at first; her concerns had been far greater than his, which was less than reassuring. For the first few months after he had been accepted for the job, she had been non-stop trying to talk him out of it. Begging, pleading, nagging, even bribery – Jay knew how best to attack her son, and she used the knowledge as a formidable weapon. In the end, only a carelessly worded sentence had steadied his resolve and made him determined to take the post.

“Are you sure it’s wise, love, taking this position?” she had asked.

“Of course I am. It’ll be a good experience. You know I love a challenge; what could be more challenging than analysing a building full of dangerous criminals?” He had grinned teasingly at her to show that he was joking.

Her forehead creased with worry, she had attempted another tactic. “But will they treat you differently? I mean…they don’t take kindly to your sort in there, do they?”

Louis remembered the icy tone of his voice as he had said, “I’m not sure what you’re suggesting, mother.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

He had known, of course he had – but he couldn’t see what his being gay had to do with anything. Equal rights had to count for something. Why should his sexuality prevent him from accepting an interesting new job  opportunity? Especially when it was such a well-paid one. And he found that it impressed people, saying that he was going to work in a prison; they thought he was brave. Louis liked the idea. He also liked the excitement of it all, and especially the opportunity to  _talk_ to people – and get  _paid_ for it. Finally his natural gift for never shutting his mouth would come in useful! People fascinated Louis; he liked knowing what made them tick. He was hardly going to pass up on such an amazing opportunity to find out about people just because his mum thought they would disapprove of his sexuality.

“I’m afraid I don’t. But whatever it is that you’re getting at, I am  _going_ to take this position, mother. I was hoping you’d be a little more supportive.”

 Of course, her motherly instincts had won the battle, and on his very first day she had fussed over him like it was his first day at school all over again, and rushed him out of the house so eagerly and proudly that he had to smile just thinking about it. Twenty years old, and he was still as devoted to his mum as he had been when he was four.

 The chat Liam had been attempting to have with him suddenly changed dramatically, demanding Louis’ attention so that he could participate and answer questions, and his reverie was shattered as he forced himself to listen to Liam.

 “You’re new to this, right?” Liam asked as they headed down the corridor. He continued without waiting for a confirmation, “the trick is to never look shocked by anything. Otherwise they’ll walk all over you. Act tall, stand your ground, don’t blink too much. It’s like facing up to a wild animal; don’t act like you’re afraid.”

Louis  _was_ a psychologist – and a pretty good one, if his exam results were anything to go by – so he was pretty sure he already had a fairly good idea of how to deal with this kind of thing. Still, he didn’t comment and left Liam to cheerfully make suggestions and point things out to him here and there. The directions, at least, Louis was grateful for; psychologist or not, he didn’t fancy getting lost in this place. He did watch TV, police dramas included, and he had no intention of getting jumped by prisoners who expected anyone with a doctorate or any sort of medical qualification to be hiding drugs in their briefcase. Whether or not that kind of thing happened was debatable, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

“So you’re what, early twenties?” enquired Liam.

When had they moved from advice to small-talk? “Yeah,” Louis confirmed dazedly.

 “Early to graduate, weren’t you?”

“I was on an advanced course. I was, uh, kind of running rings around the rest of my psychology class,” Louis admitted with an embarrassed smile. “They moved me up a year. Or two.”

 “Mmmm hmm.” Liam nodded. “I get it. You think you can handle this lot?”

“Hopefully. I mean, training and putting everything into practice are, you know…they’re two completely different things. But I think I’ll be okay.”

“That’s the spirit!” Liam patted him on the back. “Here’s some advice, though – lose the briefcase.”

Louis blinked. “Oh God, will they attack me and strip-search me for drugs?”

A huge grin filled Liam’s face and he laughed. “No – it just makes you look a bit pretentious.”

With that, he gestured towards a nearby door, gave Louis an encouraging smile and then walked off, whistling.

“Um…thanks,” Louis muttered. He wasn’t entirely sure whether or not he meant it. Probably not. After all, how was he supposed to dispose of his briefcase in a place like this? Did it have a staff room? Or lockers? Or… _something_? He couldn’t see a friendly receptionist to leave his belongings with.

 Of course not. That would be silly – this was a prison. Why was he expecting it to be like school?

 In the end, he decided to stuff the offending article underneath a nearby chair and then go for a little wander. He didn’t have to see any of the prisoners for another half hour yet – might as well have a look around and see what he was getting into.

 He worked out pretty quickly that all of his stereotypes were wrong, because there were very few skinheads and most of the people wandering around wearing bland prison uniforms looked pretty much harmless. There wasn’t so much as a hint of a gang tattoo or the suggestion of a revolution. In fact, quite a few people smiled at him as he walked along – one young blond boy with amazingly blue eyes even waved at him as he went past, and Louis hoped that he would be meeting the lad again in one of his therapy sessions. He could do with a couple of friendly faces around, even if they did belong to lawbreakers. Several of the prison guards nodded at him and a couple smiled, and he hoped that Liam had been putting in a good word for him. Just like in high school, there were separate groups of people: the quiet ones who looked studious and scared of everyone, the sporty looking ones, the ones with the giant beards and loud laughs, the good-looking ones, the loud ones that seemed like the most likely to make trouble. Louis memorized faces that he expected would be trickier to deal with and took a mental note of those he expected would get along well with him. Every so often he had a quick word with a passer by – and occasionally people would stop staring curiously at him for long enough to ask him who he was and what he was doing there. The news that he was a psychologist wasn’t taken too well, but after assuring them that he’d left his strait-jackets at home and they had no legal obligation to say anything, people seemed to take to him. Things were going remarkably well. 

It was getting close to time for his first session when he first spotted the boy with the curly hair.

 The boy looked like he belonged in a young offenders’ institute, not a prison for fully grown men. He had a very young-looking face, soft, loose brown curls that fell neatly across his forehead, dimples and amazing playful green eyes that seemed to notice everything in just one cursory glance. As Louis watched, the boy stretched out across a chair, lounging against the fabric, and he yawned, rumpling his hair with one hand. Louis couldn’t help admiring the boy’s long body and the way he seemed so at ease with himself, sprawling across the upholstery like he owned the place. Still, perhaps he wasn’t as relaxed as he appeared; a trained psychologist, Louis knew the signs. The boy was a professional at playing it cool; he had even taken in Louis for a second. But when he took a closer look, Louis could see tension rippling through every breath the lad took, and his pretty eyes were tight and anxious. For some reason, despite his apparent ease and carefully unruffled expression, the boy looked…worried. That made Louis uneasy for reasons he wasn’t entirely sure of.

 He reached out and caught the arm of a passing guard, who, by some sheer stroke of luck, turned out to be Liam.

“Hiya! How’re you settling in?” Liam asked warmly.

“Great, thanks. Listen, who’s that boy over there, the one with the curly hair?”

Liam didn’t even glance over as he said instantly “That’s Harry Styles.”

Clearly Harry Styles was already well-known, although whether that was good news or not was hard to say. Louis carried on hurriedly, “Are you sure he ought to be here? He looks awfully young.”

“He just arrived a few days back. It was his eighteenth last week; he’s just old enough. He doesn’t belong in a young offender’s institute any more. He’s a man.”

“Can they not make an exception? Look at him. He looks so…” Louis waved a hand, lost for words.

“Innocent?” Liam snorted. “That’s what he’d like us all to believe. Trust me, that lad belongs in here more than anybody else. Exceptions have been made for him already – he ought to be in a far higher security place than this. The kid may look harmless, but he’s ten times more dangerous than any of the others. His age has already been taken into consideration; he’s got off very lightly.”

Troubled, Louis asked, “What did he do?”

Liam threw him a pitying look. “You really  _are_  new, aren’t you? I wouldn’t have thought it took a genius to figure out that we’re not allowed to say. Confidentiality, and all that. If you want your curiosity satisfied on that one, you’ll have to ask him yourself. But I’ll tell you this much – it was bad.”

Louis felt agitated and confused. Surely plain curiosity couldn’t have inspired this kind of feeling in him – it was almost desperation, this burning need to understand the mystery. “ _How_ bad?” he pressed.

Glancing worriedly around to make sure no one was listening, Liam leaned in a little closer and whispered “Bad enough for a life sentence.” Then, he stepped smartly back, checked behind him, then turned around and quickly walked off in the same direction he had come from, determined to avoid any more of Louis’ questions.

 Louis nibbled a bit of loose skin on his thumb worriedly, and he looked quickly upwards, trying to spot the boy. That was when he discovered that he was not the only one staring; curly hair falling across one eye, Harry Styles was watching him with a small smile on his young, attractive face. Louis blinked at him in shock as their eyes locked and he was frozen in place by a look that could have melted a heart of stone, the kind of look a puppy might give you before you kicked it. The expression looked odd next to the amused twitch of the boy’s lips.

 Then Harry Styles, the boy with the life sentence, the youngest and most dangerous prisoner in the complex, the boy who had only escaped a high-security prison through youth, grinned straight at Louis and winked.


	2. Chapter 2

 Louis surveyed the semi-circle of chairs surrounding him, feeling glad that whoever had arranged the setup had considered that he would find it off-putting to have people sat behind him where he couldn’t see them. Several faces were sullen, most were just bored. Only two people looked genuinely pleased to see him: the smiling blond boy who looked like the happy glow never left his face…and Harry Styles. The boy was looking at him with interest, eyes appraising as he watched him. Louis dragged his gaze away from the distraction and coughed carefully.

“So, guys,” he said, clapping his hands together. “I’m your new psychiatrist!”

Those who hadn’t already heard the news looked aghast.

Louis chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to tie you up and stick electrodes to your temples and try to make you move things telekinetically.”

A few people smiled weakly at his bad joke, but most of them just rolled their eyes. The blond boy laughed without a trace of irony, the only one who seemed genuinely amused. Harry shook his head, lips pressed together to hold back a laugh – but Louis got the feeling that the boy was laughing at  _him_ , not his appalling joke.

“So, anyway,” Louis continued briskly, “one of the main factors of a good relationship is trust, so I thought we could all get to know each other a bit! Kind of like those things they make you do in primary school where you say your name and a bit about yourself – only this time, you tell us what you did to end up in this place.” He gestured vaguely around the room. “Anyone want to go first?”

“Excuse me?” somebody asked.

Louis glanced over and saw a boy with devastating brown eyes, black hair and a jawline to die for looking at him. He didn’t seem like the kind of person who would say ‘excuse me’, but from the way everyone was staring in his direction, it had clearly come from him. He was from the group of people Louis had dubbed ‘the attractive ones’.

“Yes!” Louis cried enthusiastically. “You! What’s your name?”

“Zayn. Malik. Hello.” He waved, smirking slightly. “Anyway, um…what I wanted to know was, do we _have_ to do this?”

“Hmm? No. Oh, God, no! You don’t  _have_ to do it. But the point is that I’m a nosy git and for curiosity’s sake I want to know how you guys ended up here. Would you deny me of the opportunity to stick my nose in?” Louis grinned.

A laugh rippled through the semi-circle, and for the first time, Louis felt like he was actually getting somewhere. Encouraged, he smiled at Zayn, who shook his head, smiling back in spite of himself.

“Yeah, all right, then,” Zayn said, “fair enough. I’m in here because I stole a plasma screen TV. Or two.”

“Or twenty,” someone muttered, and everyone laughed again.

Zayn grinned. “Yeah, all right, so the number was closer to twenty in my last shipment. I guess I should say that I’m in here because I stole a plasma screen TV and  _got caught_. I’d stolen and sold over a thousand before I got ratted out.” He rolled his eyes.

“Okay,” Louis said. “Right, who’s next?”

 To his surprise, most people seemed more than happy to disclose their circumstances, and very few crimes seemed worse than petty. Some of them were as simple as silly little robberies or frauds, and a few people, such as Zayn, had been arrested for stealing – ID, electrical goods, clothes, that sort of thing. One of these people, to Louis’ surprise, was the friendly blond boy.

“I’m Niall,” he announced in a lilting Irish accent, “and I’m here because I…I guess I, uh, ‘stole’ some money. From an old lady.” He made it sound like whether or not he had stolen it was debatable.

Louis couldn’t help but scrutinise him, re-evaluating his opinion of the boy. “How much?”

Niall looked away reluctantly. After a while, he said quietly, “Six thousand euros. Give or take a few hundred pounds.”

Several people sucked in a breath, Louis included.

“I didn’t  _mean_ to steal it!” Niall protested. “I was doing some work for her, on her garden and stuff, and…she had Alzheimer’s; she thought I was her nephew. She just came up to me with this massive wad of cash and started begging me to take it, saying I was the only family she had left and if I loved her I’d take it. ‘ _If you love me, you’ll take this and use it for something worthwhile’,_ she said.  _‘You’ll take it if you love me.’_ Well what was I supposed to do – break an old lady’s heart?” He gazed pleadingly around the circle. “It’s not like I  _spent_ any of it,” he said earnestly. “I gave it all away – to charity. Help The Heroes, the RSPCA, that kind of thing. It all went on good causes. But I guess that doesn’t count for anything these days.” He looked down bitterly.

Louis couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. Clearly the boy had only been trying to do the right thing – except the right thing hadn’t been right enough. Niall truly looked ashamed, and in Louis’ opinion, he hadn’t done anything so terrible.

 “What about you?” Louis asked the one remaining inmate. This was the response he had been looking forward to the most.

Harry Styles lounged back in his chair, stretching out his long body. A stray curl dropped over one eye and he pushed it back, looking at Louis with a serene, contented expression. At first Louis thought he wasn’t going to answer – but then the boy shifted slightly and a lazy smile slid across his face. “I killed a man,” he said calmly.

Louis stared at him in complete horror, suddenly shocked. It wasn’t just the thought of murder that disgusted him so badly: it was that this boy, the kid with the soft curly hair, the sweet, young face and the big curious eyes who looked so childlike and innocent, this boy who had already become Louis’ favourite since he had first set eyes on him – this boy didn’t look like he had it in him to kill a fly, let alone a person. He looked far too young and gentle for such a horrific act. Yet this boy was a murderer, and he had freely admitted it with an easy grin, not sounding at all troubled by the fact.

It had been Louis’ intention to say nothing to this, but he couldn’t hold back the question that burned with disgust right at the back of his mind. His mouth opened, and he whispered almost desperately, “ _Why?_ ”

Harry Styles tilted his head to the left for a moment, considering, and the whole room waited anxiously for him to answer. Eventually, the boy looked up and shrugged, the smile gone from his face.

“He had it coming.”

                                              *  *  *  *  *  *

 Louis was handing in his resignation first thing the next morning.

 This was something he was certain of. He was sat on a wall a fair distance away from the prison, eating his lunch out of a brown paper bag with his back to the building. It made him feel ill just looking at it. His mum had been right; he wasn’t cut out for this kind of job. He couldn’t wait to leave – he’d only been there an hour or so and it already felt like he’d spent years in the place. Imagining what it must be like for the inmates made him shudder. Staying in this place for years on end? The very thought was enough to drive him insane.

 “Hey.”

Someone clapped him on the back and he flinched so badly that half of his lunch nearly went flying across the road. He caught his flask just in time and his sandwiches thankfully landed on his knee, and Liam sat beside him on the wall and apologetically tapped his arm.

“Sorry. Bit jumpy, are we?”

“It’s that place,” Louis muttered, jerking his head at it. “It’s making me come over all weird.”

Liam tutted sympathetically. “Rough first day, huh?”

“It’s my last day, too. I’m not coming back tomorrow. I wasn’t cut out for this job.”

“What? Oh, come on, the guys really like you! Niall likes you. Zayn Malik likes you, and that guy doesn’t usually look at people for long enough to acknowledge their existence, let alone  _like_  them. And Harry Styles likes you a lot. I saw that kid’s face; he was staring at you like…well, I don’t know, but he was looking at you.”

Louis rubbed his forehead wearily. “I know.”

“Ah. Is the whole murder thing creeping you out?”

“You could say that,” Louis said dryly.

“There’s something you should know about Harry Styles: he has a good heart. That may sound weird, seeing as he’s a killer, and a brutal one at that; the guy he went for didn’t have a hope in hell. But everything he did, he did for a reason. Can’t say I agree with his methods, but I can understand exactly why he killed that man. Harry isn’t the kind of person who would do something like that again. You have no idea how much he regrets it. He looks like he doesn’t give a damn, but if you’d heard him screaming in his sleep, you’d know he’ll live with that guy’s blood on his hands until the day he dies. And trust me, if you went back to the community he grew up in, where they all know exactly what he did, you won’t find a single person who was sorrier to see that man dead than they were to see Harry go to prison for it.”

“I always thought he’d look…” Louis waved a hand helplessly. “I never thought murderers could look like ordinary people. I thought he’d look deranged or something.”

“Murder doesn’t leave a visible mark. It just leaves an imprint on your mind for the rest of your life. Don’t hold it against the kid; he knows he’s done wrong. He gets punished enough as it is, every time his mother comes to visit. The pain in her eyes…it crucifies him. She’d take his place ten times over if she could. That hurts the boy more than any prison sentence ever could.”

“What do I do?” Louis asked desperately.

Shrugging, Liam stood up. “Leave if you want. It’s your decision. But people in this place like you, and that’s rare enough to make me wish that you’d stay.” He brushed bits of moss off his trousers and then turned round, heading back inside.

 Louis groaned and rubbed his forehead. It was all a mess. Screwing up his empty paper lunch bag, he trailed after Liam with the air of someone who was heading to his own funeral.

 The first thing he did when he got inside was to find a resignation slip in a box on the front desk, and as he was let back into the building he found an old biro from his pocket, went and sat down amongst the prisoners and started chewing on the pen as he stared at the form on the table in front of him. He’d been watching it blankly for a few minutes when a shadow fell over the paper and someone sat down on the sofa beside him. Louis didn’t look up until he heard a voice that he’d only heard say a very few words before, but was already ingrained into his memory.

“Struggling, are we? How hard can it be to fill in the first line of a form? Did you forget your own name?”

His head jerked upwards, and Louis found himself face to face with a smirking Harry Styles. The boy looked like he was teasing Louis, and there was something he didn’t quite like about that, but he couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed.

“No,” he said, his attempt at speaking sharply falling flat. “I just…haven’t made up my mind yet.”

Harry craned his neck to read the sheet over Louis’ shoulder. “A letter of resignation, huh?” he asked, sounding mildly surprised. “You’ve only been here a few hours. Is it really that bad?”

“I’m not cut out for this job,” Louis sighed. “I only took it because my mum told me not to.”

Harry snorted. “Rebel.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Whatever. The point is that I think she was right. This place isn’t for me.”

Dropping into the seat beside Louis, the boy made himself comfortable, sprawling against the furniture in a movement that was becoming increasingly familiar; he seemed to constantly be at ease, and Louis wasn’t sure why the boy needed to give the impression that he was always so relaxed. As Louis watched him, Harry raised an eyebrow and clucked like a chicken, presumably meaning to irritate Louis. Then he tutted. “Easy for you to say, you know. You don’t like this place, you can opt out of it, simple as that. Some of us are stuck here. Me included.”

“I never killed anyone,” Louis pointed out.

Harry grinned. “Touché.” He tilted his head back to look at the ceiling. “On a serious note, though, it looks like you might brighten up this place a bit. I was kind of hoping you’d stick around for a bit. Can’t say the same for most of the people who work here. They bore me senseless.”

“What makes you think I’ll be any different?”

Tapping the side of his nose, Harry winked at him cheekily, the tiniest flicker of his eyelid, momentarily obscuring one beautiful green iris. Then, he got to his feet, grinned at Louis, and wandered off as if the conversation had naturally come to an end.

 Without fully registering what he was doing, Louis reached out, snatched the piece of paper off the table and crumpled it up in his hand. Seconds later, it was being shoved into his pocket, where it would end up in the wash with his trousers and the evidence of his consideration to leave would be wiped clean.

 With a boy like Harry Styles wandering around, you couldn’t have paid him to leave.


	3. Chapter 3

“How was your first day, honey?”

Oh, the nostalgia. Louis had heard those words fly eagerly from his mother’s mouth so many times. His first day at primary school, and then his first day at high school, and the school he’d moved to when that one didn’t work out. His first job, a modest little paper-round. His very first day at college, on the psychology course. Now, his first real job, and she still asked him exactly the same question, but this time with a warm, relaxed, almost smug look on her face. Every time she asked him this, the answer was always the same. He always told her that everything had gone great; he almost wondered why she bothered to ask him any more when the answer was always the same. Even now, she was barely listening as she folded clothes and piled them up on the chair, ready to be taken upstairs and put away. She looked like she was bursting with pride.

 He didn’t have the heart to admit to her that he’d considered resigning on his very first day.

 “It was great,” Louis lied. “I made a couple of mates, I think.”

“Not  _in_ mates, I hope,” she chuckled.

Louis felt his mouth twitch. “Oh, I got to know a few of them, too.”

Jay looked horrified. “Excuse me? Are you saying you’ve made friends with the  _prisoners_? Louis, I know you like talking to people, but  _really_. There are  _limits._ ”

He shook his head, smiling slightly. “They’re not a bad lot, mum. Really. Most of them just made stupid mistakes. This boy called Niall Horan got arrested for stealing money and giving it to charity – and he didn’t even steal it, really. Some old pensioner gave it to him; it was a case of mistaken identity. Poor Niall, he didn’t spend any of it. That kid has a truly kind heart. He didn’t spend a penny; he gave it all away. But he still got locked away for it.”

Jay looked disapproving. “It’s still stealing, Lou, no matter what he did with it. I’m not sure I’m happy about you associating with –”

“And then there’s Harry Styles,” Louis said dreamily.

She literally  _shrieked._ “ _Louis!”_

“What?” Louis cried in alarm, looking desperately around to see what he could have done.

“He was on the news, years and years ago! He’s a  _murderer_!”

“I’m told he had his reasons.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this. You are  _not_ going back to that place tomorrow. It’s a bad influence on you.”

Louis laughed humourlessly. “Mum, I’m an adult now. You can’t stop me from going to work. I don’t even _live_  here, remember? I’m just passing by to tell you how I got on. There’s nothing you can do to keep me from going back.”

“Oh,  _God_.” Jay clutched her head, looking crazed. “My son. My baby, associating with thieves and murderers…what on earth is the world coming to?”

“You’re overreacting.”

“I never should have let you take that job,” Jay groaned. “You’re going to get yourself into trouble.”

Louis snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous, mother. I do have morals. I’m not going to kill anybody.”

Jay  _glared_  suspiciously at him, eyes narrowed _._ “You look…different. I can’t believe I never noticed it before now. You’ve got a really weird, guilty look on your face. What have you done?”

Her ridiculous accusation was so random that Louis couldn’t help but giggle.

“Oh, God, why are you laughing at something which isn’t even funny? How could you laugh at something like that? What’s wrong with you? Are you on  _drugs_?” she demanded, grabbing wildly at him.

He rolled his eyes. “Of course, mother. I spend a day working as a psychiatrist in a prison and obviously I come back as part of a drug cartel.”

Looking outraged, Jay poked him. “Don’t give me that cheek!”

“Banter, mother. The word is  _banter_.”

“It’s not banter unless I say it’s banter. I do hope you’re not turning into one of those problem children.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Of course you are. You’re my…my baby. My baby Boo Bear.” A tear dribbled down her cheek.

 _Oh, God._ Louis backed off, instantly wary. Tears, especially nostalgia-related tears, were most definitely not his forte. Psychologist or not, he was uncomfortable with waterworks – after all, he wasn’t a plumber. Amused by his own awful joke, he pretended to bite his nails to hide his smile.

“I never wanted you to work at that place. Why did you have to take that job?”

“Because it pays well, and I want to  _make_ something of myself.”

“It’s a  _prison_. You’re getting money for taking care of people who have done terrible things.”

“It’s still money; it puts food on the table.”

“So do I!”

“Yes,” Louis said patiently, “but I don’t live with you any more, do I? I have my independence now, if nothing else. You can’t hold onto me forever.”

“I can try.”

“ _Try_ being the operative word. You won’t win.”

“I can try,” Jay repeated.

Louis shook his head in disgust. He loved his mum; she was his best friend in many ways, but he couldn’t cope when she came over all… _maternal_. It happened rarely enough that it wasn’t usually an issue, but he shuddered at the thought of having a mum who constantly nagged. Hopefully she would let it go.

“This is all because I divorced your father, isn’t it? You’re punishing me!”

“What? Mum!  _No_!”

“I wasn’t happy with him for a long time, you know that. I told you enough times. I don’t see why you see that you can do things wrong because I divorced him.”

“Mother! I am  _not_ doing this to spite you. For God’s sake, I’ve got myself a job – you’re acting like I’ve joined the Mafia!”

“It sounds to me like you have every  _intention_  of joining the Mafia,” Jay snapped, “or some other criminal organisation.” But her mouth moved slightly, giving her away, and all of a sudden she was fighting a grin.

“Muuuuuuum,” Louis complained, shoving her lightly. “Are you teasing me?”

“Okay, so we’re both being a bit silly,” she allowed. “But promise me you’ll be careful, Lou. I’d hate you to get into trouble.”

He leaned across and hugged her, the way he did when he was really young, inhaling her mum-smell and burying his face into her shoulder. There were so many things that Louis missed about his childhood; being able to really hug his mum was one of them. Maybe he looked a bit odd, a lanky twenty year old cuddling his mum as if he were a toddler, but he didn’t much care. She was his best friend, not just his parent, and she meant the world to him – she deserved to know.

“I love you, mum,” he whispered.

Jay patted him on the back and murmured “I love you too, Boo Bear.”

It was a testament of how weirdly emotional Louis was at that moment that he didn’t acknowledge the embarrassing nickname – he just hugged her even tighter.


	4. Chapter 4

 When Louis walked through the doors on his second day, he was feeling a little bit apprehensive – but the first greeting he got was another friendly wave from Niall, and then a couple of people he recognised – but whose names, he guiltily realized, had slipped his mind – walked past and gave him a pat on the back, presumably in gratitude for him deciding to stick around, and things only got better from there. He mooched around for a while, saying hi to people, and stopped for a bit and had a pretty good conversation with Zayn Malik about hair wax, which the other boy admitted was a bit of a sore point.

“They won’t let me have any gel or anything – I can’t cope,” he announced, grabbing a strand of hair off his forehead in aggravation. “Look! It’s so  _limp_. I can’t get it to stand up at all. It’s…it’s just unacceptable. My hair’s just  _flat_. Ugh.”

“I think it looks okay,” Louis assured him.

“You  _would_  say that,” Zayn said gloomily, “ _your_  hair looks great.”

Louis started attempting to reassure him that his hair looked fine when he spotted a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision. Turning to look, he saw Liam gesturing impatiently at him and realized with a twinge of embarrassment that he had been doing it for a while, and it looked like Louis had been deliberately ignoring him. Shrugging apologetically at Zayn, he hurried over to where Liam stood and gazed sheepishly at the floor.

“Sorry. Got distracted.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Liam said with a grin. “Talking to Zayn, huh?”

“Yeah,” Louis said almost defensively. “Problem?”

“No. It’s just weird, that’s all.” Liam shook his head in amusement. “Zayn doesn’t usually say much – even when he’s got visitors he keeps his head down. He values his privacy, I guess. What on earth did you find to talk to him about? If it were me, I would just have stood staring at him; I didn’t think he was capable of having a full conversation. You’ve really brought him out of his shell. One-word answers are usually his limit.”

“Really?”

“Well. He’s quite close to his cell-mate, I guess, but who isn’t? We make sure that people get along in this place, or else we move them around. Don’t want anyone getting aggressive. I get the impression Zayn can be quite chatty when he feels like it, but the point is that he doesn’t feel like it very often.”

“He was moaning about his hair,” Louis admitted.

Liam laughed. “Oh, now  _that_ doesn’t surprise me. I do remember we had a few arguments with him when he first came in about that kind of thing. High quality haircare products were something he was adamant about. Not that he got his way, of course.”

“Vain, is he?”

“Not…not exactly. I wouldn’t say  _vain_ ; he’s not totally self-centred or anything. But he does take pride in his appearance, yes.”

“Liam,” one of the guards said warningly as he walked past, “we’ve got a job to do.”

“Right. Sorry!” Liam apologized with a meek smile. He rolled his eyes as the other guy walked past, then made a face behind his back.

Louis smiled sympathetically.

“I was meant to be showing you to your office,” Liam admitted, gesturing for Louis to follow him.

Excitement lit up Louis’ face as they started heading down the corridor. Doors opened, and Liam’s keys clinked as they navigated their way down endless twisting corridors, constantly stopping to unlock doors and then carefully lock them again once they’d gone through.

“I get an office?” Louis asked eagerly.

“You sure do. Now that you’ve decided to stick around, they’ve set aside a little room for you, so you can have a little privacy with the guys. Confidentiality and so on.”

“But…an actual office? My own office?”

“The only thing you’ll be sharing that office with is the photocopier,” Liam promised.

A photocopier was a weird thing to have in a prison, but Louis didn’t comment. Already he was planning how to make the office his own; he’d always wanted an office, although he wasn’t entirely sure why. He liked decorating. One of his favourite things about getting his own flat had been customizing it, arranging all the little homely touches that made a house into a home. He was thrilled – his very own office! Not that it would be a very large one. Perhaps the size of a box room, he expected; very modest, very simple. Would he have a desk? He really wanted a desk. And he was determined to invest in a little plaque with his name on, a gold one that he could place in front of him to make him look important. Louis grinned.

“Here we are,” Liam announced, reaching for the first door they had encountered that wasn’t locked. He twisted the handle and threw it open, and Louis instantly poked his head inside.

It wasn’t exactly a  _large_  room, but it wasn’t tiny; it was somewhere between small and average. There were no windows; all the light came from a small and dusty lamp in one corner, which flickered occasionally. He did, to his delight, have a desk, and there was a huge, high-backed, dark red chair sat behind it, the kind of spinning office chair that evil villains with cats occupied in clichéd spy movies. It was quite threadbare, with a few rips, patches and clumsily mended tears, but it was a chair nonetheless. Opposite it, on the other side of the desk closest to the door, was a limp faded green armchair with the stuffing leaking out of it, looking very sorry for itself. There was a filing cabinet in one corner, and the photocopier sat in the other, by far the cleanest thing in the room. Even the desk was wobbly, one leg half missing so that one side of it was propped up with old telephone directories, and it creaked uneasily every few seconds, as if it might collapse if someone put so much as a piece of paper on it. The hinges of the door squeaked, there were cobwebs strategically placed in high corners that would be almost impossible to clean, and several ominous stains on the carpet stared accusingly at him, as if daring him to attempt to remove them. A balding doormat that was turning grey lounged in the doorway, not doing very much apart from masquerading as a rug. Oh, and the only thing on the unstable-looking desk was some kind of potted plant. It was limp and practically dead, brown leaves drooping, but it was a plant of some kind, no matter how lifeless.

“Oh my God!” Louis cried. “I’ve got a plant!”

“You’ve got somewhere to hide your briefcase,” Liam smirked.

“Yeah, but…I’ve got a  _plant_!”

“You, my friend, are easily excited,” Liam told him pityingly, patting him on the back. “But come here for a second.” He led Louis over to the desk and the two of them stood behind it.

“I can’t believe I have my own office – and it comes with a free plant,” Louis said dreamily.

“Just remember something, and this is important. Here, give me your hand.” Taking Louis’ hand, he slipped it under the desk and slid it across the wood. “I know it’s here somewhere…aha! There! Feel that?”

“Yes…” Louis said cautiously. “It feels like a bump.”

“It’s a button. Don’t press it!”

Louis almost snatched his hand away, but Liam held him in place.

“Relax! It’s not dangerous. But don’t press it. This is your panic button. It’s your contingency plan, if you like. We’re legally obligated to let the prisoners have their privacy and not listen in to anything they tell you. It’s all because of closure, or something. Don’t ask me about the legal stuff; I haven’t a clue. But you keep quiet about this button, because if anyone starts getting nasty with you, all you have to do is press it. There’ll be someone outside at all times; if you press the button, we’ll be in here before you know it. As long as nobody knows about that little button, you’re safe.”

Wide-eyed, Louis nodded. “Keep quiet about the little button. Got it.” He paused interestedly. “Is it a  _red_ button?”

Liam snorted. “No. It’s yellow. Why, did you have your heart set on a red one?”

“No. It’s just the emergency buttons are always red, aren’t they? I just expected it to be red.”

“We’re full of surprises around here,” Liam teased. “Want me to leave you, give you a chance to get you and your briefcase settled in?”

“Please,” Louis said.

Liam headed for the door – but just before he left, he turned and said warmly, “I’m glad you decided to stick around, mate. Things are going to be a lot more fun around here with you knocking about the place.” Then he left.

Instantly, Louis had snatched his phone out of his pocket and was dialling. It rang out twice before Jay picked up.

“Louis?”

“Hey, mum!” he exclaimed. “You’ll never guess what! I’ve got a  _plant_!”

 *  *  *  *  *  *

It took a while for Louis to finish tweaking with the room, and he had to admit defeat after the first two hours of tidying; it would have been impossible to perfect the appearance of it, even if he’d had a whole army of professional cleaning staff at his disposal. Still, by the time he gave up, the walls were faded white rather than dingy grey, many of the cobwebs were gone, and he had borrowed several extra lamps from other people to better illuminate the room; with white light bathing the area, it looked far more inviting. He had thrown his jacket across his own chair to disguise its battered state, and the ugly colour of the chair that his patients would occupy had been masked by a blanket that someone had kindly donated to him. Along with the neatened stack of telephone directories that he was planning to replace with actual books, the doormat that he had thrown away, the new rug that he had strategically covered the stains with and a neat pile of books and papers resting on top of the filing cabinet, the room was now presentable and almost inviting. Obsessively watering the plant for the third time in the last half hour – it was now in danger of drowning rather than dying of thirst – he stowed his briefcase underneath the desk and smoothed his shirt, realizing that the office was now pretty clean, but  _he_  was most definitely not.

Unfortunately, before he had time to do more than fluff up his hair at the back and twitch his collar, there was a timid knock on the door, and he automatically called “Come in!” without thinking about how much of a mess he was in. He couldn’t exactly take it back – so as a blond head poked nervously round the door, Louis smiled nonchalantly and acted like being rumpled and covered in dirt was completely intentional and he was setting a new fashion trend.

“Hey,” he greeted.

“Um…hi?” Niall offered. He blinked at Louis’ appearance.

Throwing him a reassuring smile, Louis said lightly, “Don’t worry; I know I’m a mess. I was so busy cleaning the room that cleaning  _me_ kind of slipped my mind.” He rolled his eyes.

“Oh. Okay.” Cautiously sliding the rest of his body into the room, Niall looked anxiously around as if someone was going to jump out at him, then advanced forwards a few tentative steps.

“I won’t bite,” Louis promised.

“I know,” Niall said. He smiled.

“Excellent.” Sitting down in his high-backed chair, Louis looked around happily at his office, feeling pretty professional for once instead of like a kid playing at being a psychologist. “Do me a favour, Niall, and test out that chair for me? No one’s ever sat in it before. Well, I’ll assume they have, but not while I’ve owned it.”

“Right. Okay.” Licking his lips, Niall carefully perched on the very edge of the seat and stared across the desk. His mouth moved into a polite smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He still looked anxious.

“If it collapses, don’t sue me.” Louis grinned.

“Is that… _likely_?” Niall stared in alarm at the chair below him.

“Just a little joke!” Louis reassured him. “I really shouldn’t try to be funny; I’m appalling at it. Don’t look so scared. I’m not going to do anything awful. We don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to. Don’t get me wrong; sitting here in silence for twenty minutes could get a little awkward, but it’s all your decision.”

“What do we have to talk  _about_?”

“Anything. I’m really not fussy.”

“Are you going to force me to write essays about my youth and draw pictures that express my inner child?” Niall asked cautiously.

Louis laughed delightedly. “Oh my God! People actually think we do that? That’s great! No, trust me, all I want to do is talk, and I can probably get a pretty accurate idea of your mental state from that. If you really want to do all those essays and stuff, it’s up to you, but honestly, it sounds pretty boring.”

“Nah,” Niall said quickly, relieved, “just talking sounds good to me.”

“Good. How about we start from the beginning, then?”

“That’s usually a good place to start.” Niall chanced another smile.

“You don’t mind if I take notes, do you?” Louis flipped past a few pages in his notebook and then clicked the pen in a businesslike manner.

“Um…no?”

“I really ought to invest in a tape recorder,” Louis said conversationally.

“You can’t  _get_ tape recorders any more,” Niall pointed out.

“True. Sorry, that was just me being a nineties’ kid. The good old days of cassettes.” With a nostalgic sigh, Louis touched his pen to the paper. “So, down to business. The beginning?”

“Of my life?”

“No, of your…your criminal activity. Your big mistake, if you like.”

Nodding, Niall said, “I like the sound of ‘my big mistake’ a lot better.”

“Right, then. ‘Your big mistake’ it is. Tell me what happened. In your own words.”

“Will you be able to keep up?” Niall eyed the notebook.

“I know shorthand.” Louis looked pleasantly up from his paper. “Let’s make a start, shall we? See how much we can cram into twenty minutes.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Niall took a deep breath and looked into Louis’ kind, sympathetic eyes. Then, he opened his mouth and started talking.


	5. Chapter 5

The door had barely clicked shut behind Niall before someone was tapping gently on it again. This time Louis made a valiant attempt to knock some of the dust off his clothes and rub his face to try and wipe off some of the dirt before he told his next visitor to enter, but judging by the look on Zayn’s face it made little difference.

“I know,” Louis sighed, “Don’t even say it. Cleaning is a messy business.”

Examining the room, Zayn murmured “Well, don’t give up your day job.”

“This place was a lot messier before I cleaned it!”

“Mmmm.” Taking a seat, Zayn focused his attention on Louis. “Could you attribute your desire for cleanliness as a subconscious need for organisation and closure in your daily life?”

“Hey, I’m the psychiatrist here; take note of who has the coolest chair.”

“I know.” Zayn grinned. “But I wanted to see whether I could be a psychiatrist myself. Was I any good?”

“If you were being one of those annoying, old-fashioned  _textbook_ psychiatrists, then you were spot on. But personally, I prefer to say things that actually make sense rather than paraphrase tired language from a psychological dictionary.”

“Good.” Pause. “Are you taking  _notes_?”

Louis’ pen scratched against the paper and he didn’t look up. “Yeah, sorry. I need to get a recording device set up. I’ve written myself a memo.” He waved vaguely at a lurid yellow post-it note pinned to the pot that housed his limp plant.

“It’s, uh…it’s kind of distracting.”

“Oh, is it? Sorry.” Louis put the pen down.

“Thanks. What are we supposed to talk about, then?”

“Anything you like, really, but so far I think that discussing ‘your big mistake’, as Niall likes to call it, is as good a place to begin as any. You know what I mean. Tell me about the plasma screen TV-stealing business.”

Zayn reached up and ruffled his hair absently as he considered. “Well, it was never intentional. I never set out with a deliberate plan to steal TVs. I was working in the repossession business, as a bailiff. That’s how it started.” He looked anxiously at Louis.

“Interesting career choice.”

“It pays well. I didn’t enjoy it. But what happened was, we repossessed this house, and this woman had a flat screen HD TV – a pretty expensive one, too – and we ended up selling it to pay off some of her debts. We got heaps of money for it – that’s what gave me the idea. A friend of mine worked in a factory and we reckoned we could make a killing if we sold the TVs at a cheaper price; you know, retail prices. So every so often, he’d sneak a few off the production line and we sold them. We had a proper little business going on. The problem was overconfidence, I think. Tried to take a few too many. We got caught.”

“Ah.”

“What really annoyed me was that he let me take the wrap for the entire thing. He claimed that I threatened him into it. I’m not the threatening type, ask anyone – but people expect you to be, when you’re in the line of work that I was. So he got off with community service and I got thrown into this place.”

“That would explain your trust issues,” Louis murmured.

“Huh?”

“According to my sources, you’re not one of the chatty ones around here.”

“Well, people think I’m a hard nut. Who am I to prove them wrong? I don’t really have anything worth saying to any of that lot anyway. If I wanted to talk to them, then I would.”

“Perfectly understandable. Although from what I’ve heard, you’re not that talkative with your family, either.”

“Who’ve you been talking to?” Zayn asked irritably. “It’s nobody’s business but mine; they should keep their noses out.”

“People see things around here, Zayn,” Louis answered mildly; “they get bored and have nothing else to do other than gossip. There’s not much you can do about that.”

“Mmm,” Zayn agreed disapprovingly. “I just…I don’t…well. You’ve never met my mum. She always thought I’d do well for myself; I got good grades in school, and she kind of expected me to move on to do big things. I used to tell her that the bailiff thing was just something to earn my keep while I figured out what I was going to do with my life. Somehow I don’t think that landing in a prison cell was quite her idea of how she wanted me to turn out.”

“Yeah, I know the problem. My mum isn’t exactly supportive of me working here.”

“At least you can look her in the eye,” Zayn said bitterly. “At least you know you’ve done nothing wrong. I can hardly  _look_  at my mum, and she can barely speak to me from shame.”

“But is keeping everything bottled up really a solution? Surely speaking to her would be a better option.”

“What would I say? She’d never understand why I did it.  _I_ don’t even get it half of the time. It’s like… it’s like I didn’t realize I was doing something wrong until I’d done it and been arrested for it. It felt like I was helping people; I was doing them a favour by getting them discounts. That’s how I saw it. I never really thought of it as stealing.”

Louis nibbled the end of his pen and sat back in his chair. He had a feeling he was going to have a few problems sorting out the rift between Zayn and his family, and if he couldn’t do that, the guy was going to be left as a social outcast with trust issues for the rest of his life. Welcoming the challenge, Louis nodded and got ready to start delving a little further into Zayn’s mind.

 *  *  *  *  *  *

Louis couldn’t remember the name of the next person to enter his office. A stocky, balding middle-aged man about twice Louis’ age – and weight – settled down in the chair that Niall and Zayn had occupied before him. It creaked ominously, and Louis winced in pity. He probably shouldn’t be feeling sorry for the furniture, but honestly, the guy was huge, and Louis wouldn’t have liked someone that size sitting on _him_. The man had a fluffy pale brown beard, like a cat’s fur, and a very long, flat nose. His eyes were a pale, watery blue. He didn’t have a very memorable face, so Louis forgave himself for forgetting the name that went with it. Clasping a pair of beefy hands in his lap, the man looked placidly at Louis with little interest.

“Hi,” Louis said, and then added apologetically, “sorry I’m such a mess. I was cleaning.”

Sitting silently in his chair, the man didn’t comment.

 _Well, you’re a chatty one,_ Louis thought dryly, but he shook the thought away. “Remind me of your name?”

“Brian.”

“Brian…with an I or a Y?” asked Louis, pen hovering above the paper.

“With an I,” Brian said limply.

“Excellent.” Louis wrote it down. “Now, then, Brian. Perhaps we should begin with talking about how you came to be here.”

“In a van.”

Louis laughed, then spotted the confusion on the man’s face and realized that he hadn’t been joking. Straightening his face – and trying not to worry about the blatant simplicity of the man’s mind – he nodded and remedied his statement. “I meant why were you sentenced?”

“Oh. Drink driving. I hit a little girl with my car.”

His voice was emotionless. Louis wondered whether that was some kind of intentional technique Brian used to stop himself from getting too upset over it. If so, perhaps there was more depth to the man than he had originally assumed.

“Well, you must feel terrible about that.”

“No, not really.”

“Excuse me?” Louis was shocked.

The man wasn’t being intentionally malicious; his face was blank and his eyes dazed, as if Louis’ reaction had surprised him. “I feel pretty bad for hitting her. But I’m not really upset that she’s dead. I didn’t know her.”

Okay, the man was about as deep as a puddle.

“I don’t understand,” Louis admitted, not taking his eyes off the man as he took notes so quickly that his hand almost flew off the paper. He wouldn’t be surprised if the words he was writing were sprawling across the page and overlapping each other.

Brian shrugged. “I felt bad for killing her, but why should I care that she’s dead? I didn’t know her. She wasn’t anything to me. Why should I feel awful because some stranger died?”

Louis would have been disgusted if he hadn’t felt so sorry for the guy. Clearly Brian was so painfully logical that he had no feelings for the girl he had killed. It had been an accident, and he felt bad over it, but the true death of the child meant little, perhaps nothing, to him. He didn’t know her, therefore he saw no reason to be sad that she was gone. It was almost horrifying to meet someone who was that narrow-minded – and yet Brian wasn’t a bad person. He was just…shallow.

Swallowing, Louis suggested, “But how must her mother have felt?”

Brian shrugged.

Not to be discouraged, Louis determinedly continued, “It must have been a nightmare for her.”

“Mmm.”

“Her little girl is dead. She isn’t coming back.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, how do you think that would feel?”

Another shrug.

Louis almost lost his temper. “Do you have children, Brian?”

“Yeah.”

“How would you feel if  _they_ got hit by a car?”

For the first time, an actual emotion flashed through Brian’s pale blue eyes. “Pretty bad,” he said quietly. “Like my life wouldn’t be worth living.”

“ _Exactly_. How do you feel about that little girl you ran over  _now_?”

Brian considered briefly, then shrugged. “I’m sorry for killing her, but…I’m still not sad that she’s dead. She wasn’t  _my_ child.”

Louis almost started ripping his hair out at that point. This guy was going to be hard work. He persevered, but the rest of Brian’s replies were mostly monosyllabic, or just irritating blank looks or shrugs. In the end, when Louis’ constant checking of his watch paid off and their twenty minutes was up, he waved Brian out of his office with an enormous sense of relief. Eyeing his note sheet, which apart from a few lines at the start, was blank, he pulled a face. Eventually, he scribbled down something vague about communication issues, feeling that it would be more polite to say that the man had difficulty expressing his emotions than that he simply didn’t have any. Cramming the piece of paper into the very back of his file, he sighed and rubbed his eyes exhaustedly.

Another knock on the door disturbed his moment of peace.

Louis’ patience was wearing very thin, but he plastered on his best friendly expression and managed to yell “Come in!” without sounding too close to murder. His foul mood evaporated an instant later as Harry Styles stepped into the room with a casual smile on his face.

“So this is Casa de Louis, huh?” he asked, grinning.

“Yup, this is me. Me and my mess.” Louis shook his head fondly. “I’ve even got a plant!” He gestured excitedly at the plant.

Walking across to the desk, Harry examined the wilting leaves and disappointing lack of flowers. “Bit droopy, isn’t it? Have you tried watering it?”

“If I water it any more, it’ll be swimming in its own personal pool,” Louis snorted.

“Well, you want to be careful. There’s such a thing as over-watering, you know. They don’t like to be given  _too_ much.” Harry flicked the stem. “It’s a shame; looks like it could have been a nice plant. What is it, some kind of cactus?”

“Actually, I think it’s a begonia,” Louis admitted, “either that, or a tomato plant. Don’t ask me; I’m not a gardener. Anyway, enough of the horticultural lessons! Take a seat.”

Harry did so, and they looked at each other for a while.

“I’ve been talking to Niall and Zayn,” Harry told him. “They said that you always ask about ‘our big mistake’.”

“It seems like a good place to start.”

“You’re sure you want to hear the details of what I did? I didn’t steal a few TVs or a few thousand quid, Louis. I killed someone. Violently. It wasn’t pretty.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Listen, mate, I just listened to a guy tell me for twenty minutes that he wasn’t sorry for killing a three year old girl because she ‘wasn’t his’. I think I can take it.”

“On your own head be it,” Harry murmured, and he started fiddling with a loose thread on his sleeve.

Patiently, Louis waited. When it became clear that Harry had no intention of saying anything else, he said “You said yesterday that you killed that man because he ‘had it coming’.”

“I did.”

“What made you say that?”

“Because it’s the truth. He deserved every single stab in the chest that I gave him – all thirty-seven of them. And he would have had a good few more besides, if I’d gotten my way.”

Louis felt his mouth tighten into a disapproving line. “Oh yes, because murder is an excellent way to resolve a situation.”

“And you think sarcasm is any better?” Harry retorted.

“Don’t try and change the subject. We’re discussing why you think murder is okay.”

“This world has too many people like that guy. Too many disgusting people. He was going to hell anyway; I only sped up the process.”

Horrified, Louis said “But…you killed him. So now you might be joining him.”

Harry shrugged. “So be it. At least I saved all the good people from him. Anyway, I don’t believe I’ll be punished for doing what I did. It was the right thing to do. He was a horrible person – a monster. The world is far better off with one less person like him in it.”

“What makes you any better than him? You killed him. You’re just as terrible as he is.”

“I killed him to save everybody else.”

“You can’t justify murder. You ended someone’s life. If that doesn’t make you a monster, I don’t know what does.”

“Maybe I am a monster – but I’m the right  _kind_  of monster. I did what I did for a reason.”

“Come on then, what was your reason? Tell me your reason, and make it good! I don’t want any rubbish about the world being a better place without him; I’m not buying that. You give me one good, solid reason why you had a reason to kill someone.”

Harry was silent.

Louis started shaking with anger. “You didn’t have the right to kill him. You didn’t have the  _right_. Nobody has a right to take anybody’s life away from them, no matter who they are.” Furiously gripping the desk, he focused on not exploding. He was struggling not to leap out of his seat and start yelling.

“Oh really? Is that what you think? You can’t think of  _anyone_ who was so evil that they needed to die?”

“I can’t think of how murder helps anything. That way, we’re  _all_ monsters. If we killed people every time they screwed up, there wouldn’t be a single person left on this planet.”

“Really?” Harry repeated, one eyebrow raised.

“ _Really_. Nobody should be allowed to play God. Nobody should be able to snatch someone’s life away – especially not like that.”

“He deserved it.”

“Nobody  _ever_ deserves it!” Louis snapped.

Harry leapt out of his chair and slammed his hands down on the desk in anger. “So you think he should have been able to get away with what he did? This is a guy who follows a fourteen year old boy home from school and then attacks him because he’s had the courage to admit that he’s gay. This is a guy who punches that boy until he’s unconsciousness and kicks him so hard that he breaks six ribs, and then leaves him bleeding in the gutter. Then this guy goes to the pub and boasts to his mates that he ‘punched the little queer faggot’s head in’ and gets bought a round of drinks for it. You really think  _that guy_ deserves to live?”

Stunned into silence, Louis blinked at him.

“He would have done it again,” Harry said breathlessly, sitting down heavily. “He would have done it again.” Looking helplessly up at Louis, he asked “what else could I have done?”

“You could have called the police,” Louis answered limply.

Harry laughed bitterly. “Oh, yeah, great. Where’s the evidence? That kid – Michael – would never tell anyone who did it. He was too scared. And it’s hard to mumble a good statement through a mouthful of broken teeth. I saw what happened, and I wasn’t going to let it slide. Michael was a good kid. He was a friend of mine; I grew up with him. I was so proud of him for coming out. He was so brave.” Taking a deep breath, he continued sharply, “but some people are so full of hate that they’ll do anything to anyone. Michael got facial reconstruction surgery out of it – the guy who went for him got what was coming to him. He got as much pain as Michael did and hopefully a lot more. And I’ll never regret that. I struck a blow for the kid. That’s all anyone could ask for.” He buried his face in his hands.

Louis watched him for a while, disgusted with himself, because even as Harry struggled not to cry, shoulders heaving, Louis couldn’t help but notice how attractive he was. He wanted to touch the loose curls falling around Harry’s face – more than that, he wanted to step around the desk and hug Harry, because he hated to see people cry and worst of all, it was his fault. The urge to comfort the crying boy in front of him was almost unbearable; he had to cling to his chair to stop himself from throwing himself down onto the floor and begging Harry to stop.

Eventually, after a few more minutes of sniffing, Harry wiped his eyes and sat up. His face was damp and red, and his eyes looked swollen. Louis felt a twist of guilt deep in his stomach, and he stared at the floor, speechless.

“Can I go now?” Harry asked faintly.

They weren’t even halfway through the session, but Louis couldn’t face that miserable, guilt-inspiring expression and sad eyes for another second. Looking away, he waved a hand inadequately and Harry gratefully chose to interpret that as a yes. Getting to his feet, he rushed out without looking back, wiping his damp eyes again with the back of his hand.

The moment he was gone, Louis instantly reached into his pocket and snatched out the crumpled resignation form. He flattened it out on the desk, smoothing out the creases and tracing over the dotted lines with one finger. Right at that moment, he could scribble a few words and then shove that tiny piece of paper at the first person he came to, and then he would be free of this place and all the worry, all the annoyance, all the stress. He could get rid of all of his mother’s anxiety, and leave behind all the people he didn’t understand. Best of all, he could walk away and forget Harry Styles, and never again have to look at the boy who pretended he was untouchable and yet was haunted by something he’d done that he knew was wrong as much as he knew it was right, and the confusion of not knowing whether he should have done it or not.

He wouldn’t sign the form. Not today, at least. But he  _could._


	6. Chapter 6

Louis hadn’t suffered from insomnia since childhood. He’d always been so bouncy and energetic that sleep seemed like a waste of time – why bother shutting your eyes when there were so many other much more interesting things you could be doing? You only live once. So while everyone else was wasting their time sleeping, Louis was up doing fun stuff. It got to be a habit of his; even when he was exhausted, his eyes wouldn’t close, and he ended up lying and staring at the ceiling for hours on end. Sleep never seemed to come.

The problem had been solved years ago, but that night as he lay in bed, the only thing that came to him were thoughts, and sleep gave him a wide berth. It was frustrating to be awake when he just wanted to escape for a few hours. His head buzzed with confusion and his eyes wouldn’t stay closed. Eventually, he resorted to extremes and went to find some paracetamol, and eventually, drugged up to the eyeballs with medicine he didn’t need, he fell asleep.

When he was driving like a maniac at five minutes to eleven the next morning, battling through the work traffic and struggling to focus through a haze of exhaustion and cold medicine, he decided that the next time he had a group psychology session with the prisoners, he was going to give them all a very long and boring lecture about drug abuse. So cold medicine was strong enough to let you sleep through the alarm! Who knew?

As he staggered through the doorway, a couple of people stared at him and he thought he heard a few people muttering, but he wasn’t in the mood to listen. It was only his third day and already he’d made somebody cry, drowned the plant in his office and turned up three hours late for work. Well, he was definitely making a good start.

“Louis!”

Louis growled and didn’t look around. He wasn’t in the mood for Liam today.

“Louis! Will you wait for a second? I need a word!”

“I’m three hours late, in case you hadn’t noticed. I really don’t have time for a chat.”

“It’ll only take a second.”

Louis stubbornly didn’t turn around. “I’m running late on  _all_ of my appointments, I have paperwork to organise and my plant is  _dead_ , so excuse me for not wanting to stop and talk to you!”

The plant part made Liam’s mouth twitch, but he forced himself to keep a straight face. “Louis, I really need to ask you something.”

Louis whirled around. “What?” he snapped. “So I overslept! I’m sorry, okay!”

“Oh, no, it’s not that. We’ve all done  _that_.” Liam shook his head and smiled. “On more than one occasion. It’s nothing to do with that.”

“Oh.” All of a sudden Louis felt pretty stupid, and guilty for being so rude. “Sorry.”

“No problem. It’s about Harry.”

Louis felt his insides freeze with worry. “Harry Styles?” he asked casually.

His attempt at nonchalance made Liam roll his eyes. “Is there any other Harry?”

“Um…no, I guess there isn’t. What about Harry?”

“He’s been acting kind of funny ever since he spoke to you yesterday; I was wondering if you knew anything.”

“Me? Nope. No, I don’t. I don’t know anything.” Falling over his words, Louis knew he sounded fake and Liam wasn’t buying it.

“You’ve seen the kid; he never shows he’s upset. He just…sits there. He smiles and he acts like nothing fazes him. For him to let people see that he’s down…it must be something pretty serious.”

“I really don’t know. I mean, we were talking a bit about…the  _incident_ ; I suppose that could have unsettled him a bit.”

Liam grimaced. “Oh. I wish you’d warned me earlier; that way I could have advised you against it.”

“Huh?” Louis frowned.

“We, ah…we don’t tend to talk about ‘the incident’,” Liam explained. “He’s kind of sensitive about it. We got told that before he even came. Bringing it up unsettles him. He gets upset about it. He has a bit of a history of, um…well, never mind. But it’s not a good idea.”

“Why did no one warn me?” Louis exclaimed.

“I never realized you would need warning. It doesn’t take a genius to know that you can’t really have a conversation about things like that; I already told you how mixed up he is about it. I assumed that you’d have the sense to –” Liam stopped abruptly.

Harry was staring darkly at them from the other side of the room.

His hair was a tangled mess and there were frown lines that refused to go away etched across his forehead. Every muscle of his face was tensed. He looked pale and sickly, and his mouth was set in a harsh line. For once he wasn’t lying sprawled out; he was sat hunched up in a corner with his knees pulled into his chest, arms around his legs. The bags underneath his eyes were more like suitcases, and dark shadows accompanied them, making him look kind of creepy. Louis couldn’t look at him for more than a second without feeling guilty, so he focused his attention on Liam.

“You see what I mean?” Liam asked quietly, turning his face away so that Harry couldn’t see what he was saying.

“He looks…disturbed.”

“He  _is_ disturbed. I wasn’t doing the night shift last night, but according to the guys who were, he was prowling round his cell like a caged bear until the small hours. It’s just as well he doesn’t share with anybody. And when they made him get into bed, he screamed for the rest of the night. Not just to spite us, either; he’s not like that. Some of them deliberately make a racket just for the satisfaction of getting on everyone’s nerves. Not Harry. He has awful nightmares; sometimes he’ll just sit and cry because of them. They get to be that bad. Dean reckons he woke up every ten minutes to the sound of Harry howling.”

Louis felt sick. “Does he…does he do that…often?”

“Dean? Oh, yeah, he’s terrible, he wakes up at the drop of a –”

“Not  _Dean_ , Harry!”

“Oh! Yeah, he does. He’s only been here a fortnight or so, but…yeah. I did a few weeks on trial at his last place, and he did it there, too. Sometimes they have to sedate him. He’d been doing a lot better lately, but it looks like that’s out of the window now.”

Louis sneaked a look at Harry, who was sitting and staring into space with a fierce expression on his face. You would never have guessed that he had been crying all night. Something held him up straight, keeping his face taught and eyes hard – maybe it was pride. Louis couldn’t help admiring him for it.

“Look, I didn’t mean to upset him,” Louis began guiltily.

Liam held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t. He doesn’t want your pity, or need it. It’ll be alright in the end. Just…maybe stay out of his way for a bit, yeah? I don’t think he wants to talk to you right now.”

That was good advice, and Louis intended to follow it. Spotting a familiar blond head wandering past, he gave Liam a small smile and then hurried off in pursuit.

“Niall! Hey, Niall!”

“Louis! Hey, man, how’s it going?” Niall greeted him. “How’s your plant?”

“Dead,” Louis said gloomily, “unless it’s risen from the grave since last night.”

Niall tutted. “Shame.”

“Yeah.” Louis brightened all of a sudden. “You think you could help me with something?”

“Depends on what it is.”

“It’d be great if you’d help me sort out some of my paperwork. I really need some kind of filing system in place; I’m losing everything. I’m drowning in a sea of paper. I know it’s kind of boring, but it’s got to be more fun than just walking around, right?”

“I’ll do it! If, uh…if the guys will let me.” Niall looked down.

“Let me deal with that,” Louis said firmly. He cupped his hands around his mouth so that the sound would carry and yelled “Oi, Liam!”

About fifty people turned to stare at him. Niall’s ears went red with embarrassment, but Louis was unruffled. Weird, that, seeing as the gaze of just one boy with curly hair could turn him into a quivering wreck. Turning around, Liam caught Louis’ eye and tilted his head questioningly.

“Niall’s going to come help me with my filing system!” Louis called.

Liam gave him a nod and a thumbs up.

“Sorted,” Louis said cheerfully. “Coming?”

It was the first time he’d walked around without Liam escorting him, but as Louis repeatedly unlocked doors and then locked them with the keys he’d been presented with, he didn’t feel that he needed to be at all worried about Niall. They casually chatted on the way, about football and music and what sort of car Niall wanted when he got out. When Louis admitted that he had a Porsche, he saw Niall almost visibly drooling and then he started interrogating Louis about what it was like to drive, what colour it was, even what it smelled like – which was odd, but Louis liked his car; he didn’t mind having a conversation about it.

They had just arrived in Louis’ office when Niall said “What did you do to Harry yesterday, man? He looks freaked. Like…I don’t know, he looks like…I don’t even know. He doesn’t look right.”

Forcing himself to stay calm, Louis sat down in his chair and absently shuffled his papers, pretending to focus on that. “Who’s to say it was me? He’s kind of…different, isn’t he?”

Niall smiled sympathetically. “He’s an odd one, to be sure. I’ve never seen him act like this, though.”

“Well, who knows what goes through someone’s mind?” Louis murmured distractedly, flicking through a few memos.

“Um…you’re a psychiatrist, man. Isn’t it your  _job_ to know?”

Louis rolled his eyes. “I’m not a mind reader. I don’t know what’s going through your head; I’m just supposed to know  _why_.”

“Yeah, I guess…”

Before Niall could continue asking uncomfortable questions, Louis hurriedly shoved a messy heap of paper at him. “Hold this for a second.”

Staggering, Niall clung to the pile and looked horrified. “You’ve only been here for two days! How do you have this much paper? Did you chop down a rainforest?”

Louis laughed. “Something like that. Well. Actually, nothing like that. But believe it or not, four people and twenty minutes of psychoanalysis each equals a hell of a lot of paperwork.”

“Yeah, well, I’d noticed.” Niall eyed the stack of papers in his arms with a wary expression. “Do we have to sort all of this?”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to read it. All we need to do is read the names on the top of each sheet and alphabetize them. Horan, Malik, Redshank and Styles – simple.”

“Sounds a bit  _too_ simple.”

“No catch, I promise. I’ll even throw in coffee and biscuits afterwards. Just…don’t give yourself a paper cut, okay? I don’t want the wrath of your solicitor when he accuses me of hurting you.” Louis grinned.

“What  _kind_ of biscuits?” Niall asked suspiciously.

Louis straightened confidently. “Jammy Dodgers.”

“Deal!” Niall said immediately, hurrying over to the filing cabinet and checking the name on the first piece of paper.

 _Can’t go wrong with a good Jammy Dodger,_ Louis thought smugly as he ran a hand through his hair. Things were still a little fuzzy inside his head, but that didn’t mean he’d forgotten how to use bribery. He couldn’t help but smile. Maybe there was no sense of flirtation or chemistry between him and Niall, and no excitement, but at least he knew where he stood.


	7. Chapter 7

The door of Louis’ office clicked and he looked up with a friendly grin, expecting to see Niall – and his heart sank, the smile dropping from his face. In the doorway, Harry was stood watching him, his halo of curls standing up around his head, freshly washed. His cheeks were slightly flushed and the dark circles were gone from underneath his eyes, and he looked warily at Louis, but with an odd kind of defiance, sticking his chin out as if he was looking for a fight.

 Louis’ hand slipped under the desk and he brushed his fingers against the little yellow button for reassurance.

 “You’ve been avoiding me,” Harry said in a low voice.

“I haven’t. I can’t see  _everyone_  every single day, you know; there are a lot of people around here.” But Louis couldn’t meet the scrutiny of Harry’s hard green eyes without having to duck his head in shame.

“That’s funny, because you seem to be finding plenty of time to hang out with Niall.” Harry eyed him accusingly.

“Niall has been helping me with my paperwork,” Louis said patiently.

“I could do that.”

“Thanks for the offer, but there’s really no need. Niall has a handle on it. This place is pretty organized now, as you can see.” Louis gestured across the office, which was remarkably tidy, considering that he was hardly the most systematic person around.

“Why don’t you want me?” Harry asked reproachfully.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Louis said briskly.

“Look at me.”

“It’s hard to look and write at the same time,” Louis answered mildly, neatly scribbling out a mistake and correcting it in his best handwriting, swirling the letters with elaborate care that he usually wouldn’t have bothered with. Still, it was a welcome distraction.

“Then  _stop w_ riting!” Harry cried impatiently. He strode forwards and plucked the pen from Louis’ fingers, and hurled it to the floor.

Louis allowed a polite frown to crease his forehead for a few seconds, then pulled a biro out of a pot of pencils on his desk and continued neatly copying out his notes. It was petty, but he felt an odd satisfaction from the gesture. He was almost tempted to stick out his tongue.

“What have I done?” Harry demanded despairingly. “I thought we were going to get on. I don’t understand why you’ve suddenly decided to hate me.”

“I don’t hate you. But believe me, at the moment I don’t  _like_ you much. You’re kind of intimidating me. If you honestly want to talk about this, I’d appreciate it if you calmed down a bit first.” Louis looked pointedly at the chair.

Muttering darkly about where Louis could stick his chair, Harry sat in it and then scowled at him.

 For a few minutes, they both listened to the sound of the biro scratching against paper. Eventually, the lines on Harry’s forehead smoothed out as his frown collapsed into a quiet, blank expression, and he watched the pen moving across the paper and Louis’ handwriting forming rows of deep blue letters, blue curling against white. His stiff posture relaxed, and he sat in silence, watching and waiting.

 Louis looked up. “There,” he said softly, “maybe we can talk about this like adults now.”

“That might be nice.”

“If you hadn’t been so determined to sulk for so long, we could have started a lot earlier.”

“I wasn’t  _sulking_!”

“I won’t argue with you.”

“I wish you would.”

“Arguments rarely solve anything; all that happens is people say things they regret in the heat of the moment, and both parties find the whole affair very hard to forget.” Louis placed his pen carefully on the desk. “Let’s be reasonable about this, shall we?”

“I was always being reasonable. You were the one who started lecturing me about morals.”

“Can you blame me? I refuse to accept that murder is ever the right thing to do. Why lower yourself to that level?”

Harry sniffed. “I couldn’t exactly do  _nothing_.”

 “Yes, but you didn’t have to do something violent. Violence is never the answer.”

“It helps.”

“How on earth does it help?” Louis threw his hands up in frustration. “It causes twice as many problems as it solves.”

“We may have to agree to disagree on this one. I respect your opinion, but I don’t agree with it.”

“You expect me to accept your views on this? You want me to tell you that it’s okay to go around murdering people just because you think it’s right? Somehow I don’t think that’s going to work.”

“Why do you have to make everything I say sound so unreasonable?”

“Because it  _is_ unreasonable! Every word that comes out of your mouth is  _bloody unreasonable_. You’re just not a reasonable person.”

“I’m a perfectly reasonable person, but even the most reasonable of people struggles to have a decent conversation with someone as narrow minded as you.”

“Oh, and here come the insults.” Louis dropped his pen and huffed in exasperation. “Pointless arguing isn’t going to solve anything, but if it would help for you to have an outlet for all of this stupid and unnecessary antagonism, please, go ahead.” His expression was self-righteous enough to be almost insulting. Louis was used to dealing with toddler tantrums – he had little sisters, after all – and he was treating Harry the way he would treat a screaming child who was throwing a hissy fit.

Harry didn’t like that at all. “Don’t patronise me.”

“Then perhaps you could stop insulting me.”

“I would, Louis, I truly would – but I honestly believe that you need to be insulted. Your ridiculous ego is suffocating me.”

“I doubt it could be taking up as much space as your big head,” Louis retorted.

He felt ashamed of himself, exchanging petty jibes with a boy whose mental health he was supposed to be assessing – and improving – but really, he had his pride. And there was something irresistible about their argument that he enjoyed; perhaps it was the challenge of the banter, or maybe he just liked the opportunity to be rude to someone. Whatever it was that appealed to him, he could barely hide a smile and his excitement was bubbling for unknown reasons in the pit of his stomach.

“I don’t want to have a battle of wits with you, Louis. It would hardly be a fair fight.”

“Finally, something we agree on. Tone down the sarcasm; I wouldn’t want your head to explode from the strain.”

Harry bit back a laugh. “Is this what professional psychiatrists do, insult their patients?”

“No, but I’m not really the professional kind. Anyway, as a distraction, it’s working pretty well.”

They both paused to consider that for a second or two.

“That’s…actually, that’s  _clever_ ,” Harry said in amazement.

Louis smirked. “Occasionally that happens, you know. Sometimes sensible things happen inside this head of mine.”

“Yet rarely enough to be surprising,” Harry murmured, looking down at his hands.

“Of course,” Louis agreed easily.

“You probably shouldn’t have told me, though. Because now I am wise to your evil scheme.”

“True. But I wasn’t only trying to distract  _you_. I was trying to steer myself away from this subject too.”

“Why? Do our moral battles make you uncomfortable?”

“I do find it a little unnerving that you’re so convinced that the murder you committed was justified.”

Harry looked at him sideways. “Only because you know I’m right.”

Troubled, Louis nibbled his lip, unsure whether to deny it and feel a twinge of guilt for the rest of the day at his dishonesty, or whether to say nothing and give Harry the satisfaction of being right.

He hesitated just a fraction too long, and Harry’s face lit up in a triumphant grin. “I knew it! You  _do_ think I’m right!”

“No!” Louis protested.

“Denial.”

“I don’t! I don’t think you’re right at all! I just…” he paused helplessly. “I understand. I don’t agree, but I understand.”

Harry looked down in faint amusement. “Understanding breeds empathy, and empathy becomes agreement. So even if you disagree now, soon you will agree with me.”

“That’s not always the case.”

“Nine times out of ten.”

“Ugh!” Louis got up and started pacing around the room in frustration.

Barely acknowledging that he had abandoned the little yellow button and was helpless if Harry turned on him, he wheeled around and stalked several times up and down his office. Somehow he knew that it would take an awful lot to provoke a violent reaction from Harry. He would happily have been locked in a room with him when they were both screaming at each other without the safety of the yellow button within his reach; he couldn’t imagine Harry attacking him. Of course, Harry  _could_ – he was perfectly capable. But Louis got the feeling that he  _wouldn’t_. He looked up and caught Harry’s eye, and Harry opened his mouth as if he was about to say something –

 Just then, the office door burst open and Liam stumbled in, catching the door-frame before he fell on his face. Straightening up, he gave Louis an exasperated look and frowned at Harry.

“You,” he said, “are supposed to be in the toilet.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You seriously bought that?”

“You know when your sessions are scheduled, Harry. You’re not due to see Louis for another week yet.”

“Niall sees him every day.”

“As I’m sure Louis has already explained, Niall has been helping with the filing. He had permission to be out here, whereas you’ve sneaked around and lied about where you were.”

Harry’s beautiful green eyes rolled again.

Liam made a disapproving noise. “Do you have a genuine reason for being here, Harry? Is there an actual valid concern you have about your mental stability which you felt needed to be brought to Louis’ attention?”

Making a face like a sulky child being told off, Harry stayed silent.

“I didn’t think so.” Liam turned to Louis. “You didn’t ask him to come in, did you?”

Harry didn’t look pleadingly at Louis like he wanted the alibi; he didn’t even look up, and Louis respected him for that. Still, he wasn’t going to lie.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Right, then.” Liam folded his arms and looked at Harry. “Come on. You know where you’re meant to be.”

For the first time since Liam had come in, Harry looked at Louis. Their eyes met, and the expression on Harry’s face was torn between annoyance and worry, although Louis wasn’t sure why. The moment lasted half a second before Harry turned his gaze back to Liam, but Louis didn’t think he’d forget that look in a hurry; it had sent a weird icy tingle down his spine. Taking a deep breath, Harry walked quickly past Liam and slid out of the room, and Louis watched him go almost wistfully, although he kept his expression unreadable.

“Sorry about that,” Liam said. “I thought he was in the toilet.”

Louis shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It’s not like Harry to lie,” Liam mused. “What did he want to talk to you about?”

A whole host of believable lies flooded Louis’ brain, but he ended up tapping his nose and saying apologetically, “Patient confidentiality.”

Liam snorted. “Yeah, I know. But he doesn’t look right – you’d tell me if you thought it was anything serious, wouldn’t you? Because if there’s something really wrong, I’ll have to report it to the governor.”

That was when Louis took a deep breath and said a fond farewell to honesty.

“He’s fine. I’d tell you if he wasn’t – but there’s nothing wrong. He’s just a bit off-colour, I think. Nothing to worry about.”

Looking relieved, Liam said “Thank God! I was kind of worried. He’s a good kid, you know? I’m glad he’s okay.”

“Yeah,” Louis said quietly. “Yeah, he’s doing great.”


	8. Chapter 8

There are very few things more awkward than trying to avoid someone politely, and Louis learnt that very quickly over the course of the next few days. His second week of work seemed to come remarkably quickly, the weekend flying by, and before he’d managed to get his head sorted out, Monday morning came rushing back and punched him in the face, and he was walking through the prison corridors again, trying to get to the safety of his office as quickly as possible. It was the one place he could be sure that he wouldn’t run into that familiar mop of curly hair. Unfortunately, fate seemed to enjoy making him and Harry meet at every turn, and Louis couldn’t seem to help staring at the boy whenever they came across each other. It was as if Harry was made of metal, and Louis’ eyes were magnets; he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away for more than a second before he found himself watching the boy again.

 Then, of course, came the fact that it kept slipping their minds that they were supposed to be ignoring each other.

 Louis had barely been in the building five minutes on Monday morning when he spotted Harry, and he instantly found himself examining Harry’s face, taking in the exhaustion and stress etched across it. Before he could look away, Harry glanced up, almost as if he had known he was being watched, and their eyes met. Seeing as they were both so determined to be civil, Louis couldn’t just look away, so he nodded curtly, and Harry dipped his head in return. Then, he hurried past, and Louis hung on to his folder like it was a lifeline as he rushed to his office.

 When Louis went for coffee, Harry just so happened to be passing by and paused to watch as Liam presented Louis with a new plant, one with lots of cute pink flowers and glossy leaves, one that any gardener would have been proud of. Louis threw his coffee all down his shirt in his excitement and came very close to stripping off in the hallway, before deciding that having a coffee-stained shirt was ‘cool’ and cheerfully escorting his new plant to his office, chatting to it all the while. Harry fought back a laugh as everyone hurried to avoid Louis and the plant he was carrying, and as Louis struggled to open a door with his arms full of begonia, their eyes locked and they looked at each other for a moment before Louis escaped through the doorway.

 Some time close to lunch, they almost had a full-on collision in the corridor. Harry was wandering along staring at the floor, and Louis was concentrating on not dropping the sixteen books he was holding, so they almost ran right into each other before Louis felt the warmth of a body a few inches away, and Louis’ shoes came into Harry’s line of sight. They simultaneously jerked away, Louis with a yelp and Harry with a little gasp, and blinked at each other for a while.

“Sorry!” Louis said, and his voice sounded strange as he forced an apology past the lump in his throat.

“It’s not your fault,” Harry muttered, looking at the floor again. “I should’ve been looking where I was going.”

“So should I. I guess we’re both at fault. Still, no harm done!” Louis plastered an appropriately friendly smile onto his face, but the expression felt weird, and he let it slide off as quickly as it had come.

Harry coughed nervously, and he too attempted a smile, but it was an awkward twist of his mouth and took a lot of effort to hold even for a few seconds.

“Well, I’ll see you around, then.” Louis quickly sidestepped to the left and said a little prayer that they weren’t going to have one of those moments where they both stepped the same way, and then did it again and again for several uncomfortable seconds until one of them froze with embarrassment and the other dodged quickly past them, bright red in the face.

Luckily, Harry neatly stepped to the right and hurried away in the opposite direction, and Louis breathed a silent sigh of relief as he headed once again for his office and made a vow not to leave it for the rest of the day.

 Thankfully, the rest of the day was pretty uneventful. Louis had appointments with six different people: Mike, who had stolen someone’s ID; Joe, a car thief; Fred and Oliver, armed robbers; Hamish, who would admit to nothing but Louis was pretty sure he had been a drug dealer, and Toby, accused of making fraudulent transactions on someone’s credit card. By the end of his last session, Louis had promised to go to Joe’s wedding when the man was released in six years, agreed to help Hamish choose an outfit for his ‘Release Party’ and valiantly tried to convert Toby from heavy metal to The Fray, but with no success. Niall came round afterwards and helped him to organize his paperwork, and Louis had a long and pointless conversation with him about County Derby and, bizarrely, the best way to fry an egg (Niall favoured sunny-side up, but Louis was fussy and always insisted upon cutting out the yolk). Eventually, the day came to an end, and Louis left without seeing so much as a single curl on his way out.

 Tuesday came and went with a similar lack of excitement. He did spot Harry moping in a corner on his way in, but other than that, he didn’t see him at all. Zayn had another moan to him about the ‘poor standards of hair care products in this place’ and he ended up discussing the best colour of a tie with Hamish for a good forty minutes – it took a long time to convince the guy that coral pink with violet polka-dots is not a good colour for a tie – until he went for a tea break with Liam. They had a very long conversation about Liam’s girlfriend, Danielle, and she sounded so sweet that at one point Louis almost wished he was straight.  _Almost_ being the operative word. One of the other guards, Ian, offered to help Louis fix his desk and by the end of the day he was cheerfully binning telephone directories because, thanks to Ian, a piece of wood, some nails and a hammer, his desk now had a leg instead of being propped up by the Yellow Pages. The only low point was the woman on the front desk, Pam, who tried to give him her number and was reduced to floods of tears when he gently explained that he was gay.

“Every time I fancy a man he turns out to be a homosexual!” she sobbed hysterically. “Am I so ugly that I turn men gay every time they look at me?”

It took Louis a good ten minutes to convince the woman that if he were in any way inclined to change his sexuality, he would turn straight for her (a kind lie, but not one that he would ever have to prove) and when he finally escaped, blowing upwards and ruffling his fringe, he decided he was glad that he was gay and didn’t often have to deal with the bewildering mystery of the female mind.

 Next, of course, was Wednesday, and his one-week anniversary of working at the prison. Liam gave him a cupcake with one candle sticking into it, but told him he couldn’t light it because he would set off the fire alarms. Louis took a photo of the cake to show his mum that he was loved, and then ate it and walked around for the rest of the day with pink icing around his mouth, which Zayn cheerfully ‘forgot’ to mention to him until he was on his way out.

 On Thursday, however, things didn’t go quite so smoothly.

 He hadn’t been looking forward to seeing Harry again, but when he got into his office and found a note from Liam on his desk announcing that his appointments had all been switched around and Harry was now ‘priority’, he felt his heart sink. He’d barely sat down before the door opened and Liam gently pushed Harry into the room.

“He’s being a little uncooperative,” Liam said, “can I have a word with you before you start, Lou?”

Louis nodded and slid out of the room, and the door clicked softly behind them. Liam sighed and shook his head at him.

“I don’t know what to do, Louis; I won’t lie to you.”

“Is he all right?” Louis asked anxiously.

“I wish he was. But…I can’t lie to you, he isn’t good. He’s not eating. He hasn’t eaten anything since yesterday morning.”

Louis groaned. “Oh, God.”

“Tell me about it. We don’t want to force-feed him, but if we have to, we will. Maybe you should mention that to him.”

“Thanks,” he said weakly.

“Sorry. But…I thought it’d be better coming from you. He really seems to connect with you, somehow.”

Louis pulled a face, but he patted Liam on the shoulder. “Thanks for telling me. I’ll do what I can.”

“I owe you one.” Then, Liam hurried off.

 Louis got back into his room to find Harry absently trailing his fingertips across the desk. Softly coughing, he watched Harry flinch and then turn to look at him. He looked awful; his skin was pasty white and almost translucent, the dark shadows beneath his eyes were back, and he was shivering slightly as if he was cold, even though the room was quite warm. Somehow, he looked strangely fragile, and Louis wanted to pat him on the back…and then pull him into his arms and bury his face into those wildly messy curls and murmur that everything was going to be all right–

Gritting his teeth, Louis forced himself to say lightly “Sit down.”

Harry raised his eyebrows at the order, but he did sit down, almost collapsing into the chair, and a look of relief passed across his face as he gave his weight to the furniture.

“Right,” Louis said, and he walked across the room and leaned carefully against the table, hoping that it wouldn’t break and send him sprawling onto the floor. “I hear you’ve been starving yourself.”

Scowling, Harry shrugged.

“You do realize what will happen if you don’t eat? They’ll tie you down and stick tubes down your throat and force liquidized mush inside you. Liam’s told me he’ll do it. Even if they don’t do that, starvation is not a pretty way to go. You’ll be cold all the time, you’ll start growing little white hairs all over your body, your skin will turn yellow, your bones will turn brittle and break at the slightest little knock…”

Harry looked disgusted, but he didn’t comment.

Louis sighed heavily. “You want my attention? Congratulations, you’ve got it.”

“Not you,” Harry mumbled. “It’s nothing to do with you. I just…don’t want to eat. I don’t feel like it.”

“Oh?” Louis raised an eyebrow. “Really? Why would that be?”

Again, Harry shrugged. “I’m not hungry.”

His stomach growled in disagreement, and he blushed.

“Of course not,” Louis said disapprovingly.

Turning around, Louis made his way across the room and then he started searching through the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet, looking for his emergency bribery supply. Finally, with a crackle of paper, he brought out a bright red and yellow packet of biscuits. He examined the wrapper for a few seconds, then thrust it at Harry.

“Have a Jammy Dodger,” he said sternly.

Harry defiantly stared at the packet for the first few seconds, and Louis frowned – but however much Harry wanted to ignore the food, his body certainly didn’t. After a few more moments of stony silence, his hand reached out and he grabbed one of the biscuits and crammed it into his mouth. Within seconds, he had wolfed it down, and he sat looking in horror at his hands, crumbs all around his mouth. Louis worried for a few moments that Harry might try and bring the biscuit back up again, but as soon as he was sure the boy wasn’t going to stick his fingers down his throat, he shook his head resignedly and waved the packet under Harry’s nose again.

“Have another one. Go on, have all of them. You need to eat.”

Sighing in defeat, Harry accepted the wrapper and quickly demolished the rest of the biscuits, eating them so quickly that Louis was afraid he might choke. An almost maternal feeling came over Louis and he found himself protectively watching Harry force down every last crumb, and then he forced half a mug of coffee into the boy’s hands and watched him drink it.

“Feel any better?” he asked.

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Not really.”

“Well, at least you’ve eaten. That’s something, at least.” Louis reached to take his mug back, and when his fingers inadvertently brushed Harry’s skin, he flinched in shock. “You’re freezing!”

Smiling darkly, Harry said, “Well, you know what they say – cold hands, cold heart.” He chuckled at his own black humour and then groaned and clutched his stomach.

Louis wasn’t stupid. “Don’t try and pull that one. You think I don’t know that the second I go to get someone you’ll be making yourself throw up?”

“You think of everything, don’t you?”

“I’m trained. And I have both the authority and the inclination to get you sectioned, so don’t go doing anything stupid.”

Sitting bolt upright, Harry sniffed at him, but he stopped pretending to be at death’s door.

“Why did you do this, Harry? Does my attention really mean that much to you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“ _Why_ , then?”

Harry shrugged. “Control, I suppose. I guess…I guess it helps knowing that I might have to do what everyone says, but at least I have control over one thing. I have control over  _me_. My mind. My body. What goes on inside my head.” He tapped his forehead with a wry smile. “Although it looks like I might not have that for much longer, what with you manipulating me with your psychiatric techniques.”

With a snort, Louis said “You make it sound like witchcraft.”

“Witchcraft, mind control – what’s the difference?”

“I don’t  _control_ your mind, I just try to understand it.”

“Good luck figuring that one out.  _I_ don’t understand what goes on in my mind; what hope do you have?”

“Again with the dramatic answers. Don’t you ever get tired of being such a bloody drama queen?”

“Sorry?” Harry blinked in shock.

“You heard.” Louis had been worried, and now he was relieved – the flood of feelings confused him, and he hated being confused. Confusion led to anger where he was concerned. He was furious and he intended to let Harry know about it. “You really need to get over yourself. I mean, I know that you’re kind of messed up, but really, there’s such a thing as taking it too far.”

Harry’s bottom lip started to quiver, not in a  _toddler-having-a-tantrum_  kind of way, more like a  _hurt-teenage-boy-trying-not-to-cry_  way. Louis had hit home, and he’d hit a little too hard. The guilt was painful, and he felt horrible – which only made him angrier. Why should be feel bad for telling the truth? Harry needed a reality check.

“Have you noticed that there’s a bit of a recurring theme to all of your brooding? Every time you feel a bit lonely, a bit attention-deprived, a bit like someone else is getting noticed by me, you have some kind of massive crisis and I come running. It’s kind of unfair, don’t you think? Everyone else has to be put on hold because Harry Styles wants to be in the spotlight.”

“That’s not fair! I’m not an attention-seeker!”

“Are you sure about that?”

Louis knew he was being obnoxious and unreasonable. Harry couldn’t help being lonely and confused, he couldn’t help being miserable, he couldn’t help being mixed up, and he couldn’t help being so attractive that he scrambled Louis’ brains and turned his insides to jelly. Still, he was the easiest to blame, and the only person around to take his inner turmoil out on, so Louis turned on him.

“You need to sort your issues out on your own, Harry, because I’m not doing it for you.”

Leaping up out of his chair, trembling, Harry said “Excuse me.” Close to tears, he rushed for the door, and then paused with his fingers on the handle.

Louis waited.

Turning slightly, but not enough that Louis could see his face, Harry said emotionlessly, “Thanks for the biscuits.”

Wrenching the door open, he hurried out, and Louis stared after his curls as they whipped out of sight with a slow, sinking feeling in his chest. Insulting and upsetting a mentally unstable teen who had attempted to slowly starve himself just because Louis hadn’t spoken to him for a few days? Nice move.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the theme of self-harm, so if you are easily upset I wouldn’t advise reading it. If you are affected by this issue please talk to someone about it, don’t suffer in silence. Remember, if you need to talk, my inbox is always open.

Louis didn’t expect his phone to ring at some godforsaken hour of the morning, so it was just as well that he hadn’t been asleep. The whole room was dark, his covers rumpled around him, and he was lying in bed when out of the corner of his eye he saw a pale, sickly glow light up his phone and the gentle buzz as it started vibrating reminded him of a bee flying around his face. With a groan, he sat up and rubbed his eyes as if he’d been asleep all along – which of course he hadn’t – and fumbled for the phone without looking. His fingers closed around it, and he checked it with a heavy sigh, as if it had disturbed him. Not that he had any idea why he was pretending to be irritated; he was glad of the excuse to stop trying to force himself to fall asleep. He spotted Liam’s number flashing up on the screen and stared sleepily at it, confused – maybe he’d been awake, but he certainly wasn’t very alert. Why would Liam be calling him at – he checked his watch – 3am? Unless it was an emergency…

His heart leapt into his mouth, forced its way out and landed messily on the floor. Or at least, that was what it felt like.

Instantly answering it, he demanded “Why are you calling me at 3am? It’d better be important. Oh God, is it important?”

“It’s important all right,” Liam said grimly.

Louis almost squeaked, and then he pressed his lips together and breathed in sharply to stop the pathetic little noise from escaping.

“What is it?”

“It’s Harry.”

Well, of course. It would be Harry. It was always Harry.

Louis felt annoyed for a few seconds, wondering what kind of dramatic scheme Harry could have come up with now. His irritation wavered when he realized that for Liam to call in the middle of the night and say that something important had happened, it must have been pretty terrible. Oh, God. Something important. Important enough to disturb someone at 3am. Something important enough to disturb someone at 3am, which involved Harry.

“We’re at the hospital,” Liam continued. “In intensive care.”

Fear crawled down Louis’ throat and settled somewhere inside his chest, weighing him down and blocking his airways so that he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything apart from shudder and wait for his lungs to remember how to work.

“Lou? Louis, are you still there?”

Louis didn’t blame Liam for being worried; he was rarely speechless. “I’m fine,” he croaked. “What’s happened to Harry?”

“Well, let’s just say you were a little bit off when you said he was ‘doing great’,” Liam said sharply. “I think you should get down here. It’s not the kind of thing you can discuss over the phone.” He went to hang up.

“Wait!” Louis cried desperately. “How…how bad is it?”

Pause. Eventually, Liam said reluctantly “He’s alive.”

The phone went dead.

* * * * * *

Louis drove like a lunatic when he was panicking, and he’d never panicked as hard as he did at that particular moment. Every hint of exhaustion forgotten, he swerved and skidded at some dangerous speed with his brakes screeching, yanking the steering wheel hard and ignoring most traffic laws, except, of course, red lights. He wasn’t going to be involved in an accident – even though he would willingly have crawled to Harry’s bedside with several missing limbs, he couldn’t see that he would be allowed to leave without filling in reams of paperwork. Impatience had him bouncing in his seat and frantically tapping the steering wheel with his fingers at every seemingly unnecessary pause, but finally he pulled into the car park with both himself and his car intact, and then he sprinted for the building.

Polished floors, empty corridors, busy waiting rooms, crying relatives, exhausted doctors and the grim, clinical smell of disinfectant were among the many things Louis experienced on his way to intensive care, and each of them sent a wave of dread pulsing through him, almost incapacitating him – if anything could possibly have stopped him, he would have been on the floor crying just from pure fear. But Harry was hurt, and Louis was invincible – even though numbness had crept through him, putting blinders on all of his senses. He walked into at least six people without really seeing them; after that people wisely gave him a wide berth.

Someone stepped on his foot as he shoved past them, but the pain barely registered. The world was blurry and he felt like he should be crying, but no tears would come. Turning a corner, he came face to face with Liam and a guard whose face he recognized but whose name wouldn’t come.

Liam’s face was pale and grim, his mouth set in a hard, worried line and his forehead creased, and every few seconds he turned to glance at the door behind him as if he could see straight through it. The other guard had a cool, emotionless expression and dead eyes, and Louis was willing to bet that the guy couldn’t care less about Harry. As he approached, Louis examined their faces and body language, trying to analyse the situation. He got nothing from the nameless man, who looked almost bored, and Liam was too anxious to be giving any signals on how bad things were, so Louis just went out and asked, almost before he got close enough for them to hear.

“What happened?”

Liam looked up in relief. “You’re here! Thank God.”

“I’ll thank him when I know he’s got Harry through this,” Louis said sharply, “now tell me what’s happened.”

“He…” Liam swallowed.

“Tell me!”

“He…he cut himself.”

The contents of Louis’ stomach came hurtling back into his mouth, and he choked and was almost sick. His throat ached and tasted disgusting; sour and dry. He closed his eyes, feeling dizzy, and shuddered at the thought of it. A cold, metallic, icy blade sliding across the pale, fragile skin of Harry’s wrist, leaving a deep, slender, painfully precise scarlet line that wept teardrops of blood, little red droplets raining from the knife as if it was crying –

Liam was still talking. “– didn’t think much of it, really; he’s been looking rough lately, it makes sense that he’d go to bed early. But I never suspected…I was…oh, God.” He swallowed again. “I was checking up on everyone before lights out, and when I looked in, there he was. Juts…lying on the floor…bleeding. There was so much blood everywhere; pools of it around his wrists.” Seeming to realize that he had said perhaps a little too much, Liam fell silent.

The room spun like an out of control roundabout, and Louis breathed shallowly through his mouth, afraid to listen, but at the same time, afraid not to. His hands were shaking and the room blurred as he tried to stare at it through a film of tears.

“How?” he asked faintly.

It made no sense. How could Harry have possibly found a knife? Surely in a prison, all possible weapons would have been carefully monitored, if they were there at all. How could Harry have gotten hold of –

“There was a sharp piece of metal on his bed,” Liam said weakly, “a screw, I think. It was only an inch or so long. Somehow he worked it loose and repeatedly scratched himself until he broke the skin…and then he just kept doing it. I’ve never seen anyone do things like that with something so small. I don’t know how he stayed conscious for long enough to do that amount of damage. It was horrific.”

“Which way did he cut?” whispered Louis.

It was all so horrifically clear in his mind; Harry crying as he tore his skin with the piece of metal again and again, and despite his desperation to get rid of the mental images, he couldn’t help but ask.

“Down,” Liam said darkly, “right along the veins. He knew what he was doing.”

Speaking for the first time, the other guard held out a burly arm to demonstrate. “It started about here,” he told Louis, tapping one of the bright blue veins on his wrist, “and I think the first cut ended round about here.” His thick fingers brushed against the crease of his elbow. “Think he lost his nerve for a second at that point; the second one was only about so long.” He measured a short distance about halfway down his forearm.

Louis wanted to turn away, but frozen with a mixture of horror and fascination, he watched, sickened but captivated.

“He did about five somewhere around here,” No-Name continued, touching his wrist, “about an inch long for each – but deep. And he went to do another one here, but I think he must have slipped, because it twisted and wriggled right around his elbow. Then he did a massive slit,” the man announced with relish, “right –”

With a groan, Louis felt his knees give out and he fell to the floor with a gasp, his head whirling dizzily. Liam caught him just before his head smashed into the floor, and, holding him up, he glared at No-Name.

“John! For God’s sake, shut up!”

“What?” John asked, injured. “He wanted to know!”

“Yeah, but there’s such a thing as too much information. Come on, Louis. Sit down, mate. Take a few deep breaths. You’re all right!”

Yeah, but Harry isn’t.

Using Liam to haul himself to his feet, Louis pulled himself into a standing position and breathed in, hard. It took him a few seconds to recover himself, and then he was reaching for the door handle.

“I have to see him.”

“Lou, steady on, mate. You’re not allowed in the –”

Ignoring him, Louis got a grip on the handle and twisted it, and then he was striding into the room, ready to start fighting past doctors and nurses to Harry’s bedside. To his surprise, the room was weirdly empty; the only sounds were a low, steady beep from the heart monitor, and Harry’s soft, slow breathing. Liam paused, debating whether or not to stop him, and then fell helplessly back as if he knew it wouldn’t do any good. The door swung shut and closed with a gentle click in Liam’s face.

Louis took a painfully slow step forwards, unable to force his body to move any faster. It was as if he was wading; his legs were holding back like there was water up to his waist, holding him still. As he struggled a few steps closer to the bed, he looked at the boy who lay there and his stomach did back-flips – not out of fear, but from longing. Harry looked so peaceful. Louis had never seen him so at ease, so sleepy and vulnerable, with all of his barriers down, and it made him ten times more attractive, if that was possible. His fluffy brown curls were spread out across the pillow, looking almost black because of the sickly lighting. Louis hadn’t noticed before that Harry had really long eyelashes; they lay curled against his cheek, almost like a girl’s. His face was lightly flushed and completely relaxed, his mouth ever so slightly open, lips softly forming a curve as he smiled a little in his sleep. He looked…pretty. Like a modern-day, male Sleeping Beauty, but twice as cute. In that split-second moment, Louis fantasized about sitting on the bed beside him, leaning forwards and touching their foreheads together, inhaling the smell of Harry’s shampoo, and then touching the tip of his nose to Harry’s and softly brushing them together…touching his mouth to Harry’s so lightly that he could barely feel it, and then taking his delicate face in both hands and doing what he so longed to do: caressing Harry’s lips with his own.

Another step forwards shattered his illusion.

Harry’s face was expressionless and he was sound asleep, but that was probably because of the IV needles poking viciously into his papery skin, pumping god knows what into his bloodstream. His cheeks were flushed and almost feverish; Louis could only imagine how hot Harry’s forehead was. He looked to be burning up. As Louis moved even closer, he saw that the little smile was stiff and more resembled a grimace, and in fact Harry didn’t look like Sleeping Beauty at all, unless Sleeping Beauty had been strapped down into a hospital bed with blankets up to her chin, needles sticking out of her like she was a porcupine. Harry more resembled a doll; his skin was slightly waxy and curls were sticking to his clammy forehead.

The spell broke and Louis staggered, his limbs finally back under his command. He made a rush for the bed, and as his hands landed on the mattress and he seized two handfuls of the cool white sheets, he dropped to his knees. Trembling, he carefully stretched out and softly stroked down Harry’s burning cheek with the back of his hand, almost afraid at how hot the boy’s face was. In his sleep, Harry stirred and whimpered, and Louis tenderly brushed several sweaty curls off Harry’s face. He looked down and spotted Harry’s arms, and then his stomach once again demonstrated that it was an excellent gymnast; he felt it flip over and over with horror at the bandages wrapped tightly around Harry’s forearms. On his left arm, the bandage covered his elbow as well, but it was restricted to just the wrist on his right arm, where he had evidently done far less damage. Louis lightly trailed his fingers across the bandage, terrified of hurting Harry, but needing to feel the evidence for himself. Forget ‘seeing is believing’ -feeling was believing.

“Excuse me, who are you?”

Flinching, Louis cringed and snatched his hand away, and found himself face to face with a slender nurse who was holding a clipboard and looking curiously at him. She didn’t seem angry, but her face was disapproving and he knew from experience that emotions changed quickly.

“Louis. Louis Tomlinson,” he croaked. He gestured at Harry. “I’m his psychiatrist.”

“Okay, well if you could just wait outside –”

“No, you don’t understand, I have to –”

“The patient needs rest, Mr. Tomlinson, now if you could please –”

Louis interrupted acidly, “He’s not ‘The Patient’. He’s Harry Styles. And I need to talk to him.”

“Well, as you may or may not have noticed, he just so happens to be asleep right now,” the nurse pointed out, not unkindly, but perhaps a little more sarcastically than was necessary. “Which means that unless you’re telepathic, talking to him might be a little difficult. Now I really must insist that you leave.” She laid a hand on his arm.

Throwing the sleeping teenager a desperate look, Louis cried “Harry!”

It was a long shot, hoping to wake the boy with just one yell, but amazingly, it worked; Harry stirred and whimpered, and his eyes flew open. For a few seconds he stared at the wall, eyes wide in shock, and then he turned his head and spotted Louis staring at him. Frozen, Harry blinked, his eyes locked on Louis, confusion written across his face, obviously clueless as to where he was or how he might have got there.

“Louis?”

“Harry! Thank goodness, you’re awake!”

Horrified, Harry stared at him with eyes so big that they looked in danger of falling out, his mouth wide open in surprise. He started trembling and shrank back against the mattress.

“Mr. Tomlinson, I must insist that you leave!” the nurse almost begged, tugging on Louis’ arm.

“No!” Harry wailed.

He sat bolt upright and then seemed to notice the tug of the IV needles as he stretched them. His gaze slowly travelled down to his right hand and he lifted it to his face in shock, examining the needle. Then, he took in his bandaged arms, spotted the nurse, and gave Louis a bewildered look.

“Where am I?” His face filled with terror.

“Now look what you’ve done,” the nurse muttered sullenly, but she let go of Louis.

“Where am I?” Harry demanded again. He directed the question at Louis.

“You’re in the hospital,” Louis said gently.

Accusingly glaring at him, Harry yelped “You’ve had me sectioned?”

“No! Of course I haven’t! Harry, I would never do that!”

“Then why am I here?” hissed Harry furiously.

“You only have to look at your arms to answer that.”

Glancing downwards, Harry suddenly looked extremely guilty. “Oh, right. That.”

“Yeah. That.” Louis looked at the nurse. “Excuse me, I need a word with him…in private.”

The woman folded her arms and huffed disapprovingly, but after giving them both some very stern looks, she left the room.

“I’m sorry,” Louis said immediately.

Whatever Harry had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t that; his mouth fell open with a tiny pop, and he stared at Louis in shock. “Um…okay?”

“I should never have said any of that stuff to you. Even if it any if it were true – which it isn’t – it would have been totally unprofessional of me to say it. As it was all complete rubbish…well, that only makes it worse. It was completely unjustified. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Why would you say it if it wasn’t true?” Harry asked sadly.

“Because…” Louis sighed. “You scared me. When I’m scared, I get angry. So I took it out on you. That was wrong, and I apologise.”

After a while, Harry said slowly “Okay…but why did I scare you? I don’t understand.”

“Are you really going to make me say it?”

“Um…yes?”

Louis closed his eyes and exhaled in frustration. “I care about you. A whole lot. Don’t ask me why, because we barely know each other. But…I really do care about you.”

A weird little smile lit up Harry’s face, and his eyes shimmered – Louis thought he might be close to tears. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” Louis agreed.

“I accept your apology. In a way, you were right. There was a part of me that did want you to notice me. But I didn’t do this –” he gestured at his arms “ – because of you. That was…purely my decision. My stupid decision. Please, promise you won’t blame yourself.”

“If I did that, I’d never sleep at night. I believe you. I still wish you hadn’t done it, though.”

“So do I. My arms ache.”

“That’s your fault, not mine.”

“I know, I know.” Harry reached up and shoved his hair out of the way, then sighed tiredly – and then he took a second look at Louis and choked back a laugh. “What the hell are you wearing?”

Looking down, Louis realized that he hadn’t even bothered to throw a coat on over his pyjamas – and he was wearing possibly the most embarrassing pyjamas known to man. When he was about ten years old, he’d been given a pair of pyjamas for Christmas that he’d been in love with, and that miraculously stretched every time they were washed – so they’d grown with him. Ten years later, and they still fit, and were the most comfortable pyjamas he’d ever worn – which was why he was stood in a hospital room, looking at the boy he had a ridiculous crush on, wearing bright blue pyjamas with little green dinosaurs on them.

“Oh, God,” Louis groaned, hiding his face in his hands.

“I like your dinosaurs,” Harry said innocently, but he was fighting to keep a straight face.

Louis glared at him. “You’d better not tell anybody about this, Styles.”

Harry’s expression was wickedly amused. He pressed his lips together to hold back a laugh. “What’s it worth?”

“What? You’re blackmailing me?”

“Yep.”

“Oh, no. I’ll never give in. Do your worst.”

“Wait until I tell the guys about your dinosaur jammies,” Harry sang under his breath.

“Have mercy on me! No one will ever take me seriously ever again!”

“And that’s what makes it so fun.”

Louis narrowed his eyes. “I’ll bribe you.”

“Excellent. What do you have in mind?”

“More Jammy Dodgers. A whole packet – two whole packets.”

“Not good enough.”

“What? Ugh! Um…Hob Nobs?”

“Hmmm…tempting. Nope, keep going.”

“You’re a monster! Chocolate Hob Nobs!”

“Now we’re getting somewhere. At least three packets, Tomlinson, or the deal’s off.”

Louis folded his arms. “Two and a half.”

“Two and three quarters.”

“Done.” Harry nodded in acknowledgment and then a huge, mischievous grin lit up his face. “That was a close escape. If anybody found out about those, you’d be dead. I mean…why? Why would you wear those? You’re twenty years old! What is wrong with you?” He chuckled to show that he was joking.

Louis sighed. “What can I say? They’re just so comfy.”

Harry tutted fondly. “Freak.”

“That’s me. We’re a right pair, aren’t we? A freak in dinosaur pyjamas and a hopeless blackmailer with curly hair. You really are evil, you know.”

Grinning, Harry said, “But that’s why you love me.”

Louis dropped exhaustedly into the hard plastic chair beside Harry’s bed and smiled at the other boy, hoping it wasn’t obvious how much he wanted to say “Yes, I do.”


	10. Chapter 10

Louis looked moodily down at his desk and discovered that for the past ten minutes he had been neatly engraving ‘ _I’m bored’_  into it with his biro. He absently rubbed at the battered wood, and then reached across to the filing cabinet. Sliding open the bottom drawer, he helped himself to a chocolate Hob Nob and popped it into his mouth without enthusiasm. He kept the drawer well stocked; his biscuits kept disappearing – possibly it was Niall’s doing, but more likely he had just been eating all of them himself without noticing – and he was determined to have the amount of biscuits he had promised –

“Harry!”

Niall’s shout of welcome in the corridor was loud enough for Louis to hear it all the way in his office. Leaping up so suddenly that his coffee went flying and he scattered papers all over the room, launching them into the air like hundreds of giant, flat birds, Louis shoved his chair back, scrambled free of the new mess on the floor and struggled across the room to the door. Yanking the door open so hard that he wouldn’t have been surprised if it had fallen off its hinges, he poked his head out of the door. In the corridor, Liam was stood staring hopefully in the direction of the Irish boy’s cry.

Louis glanced at him. “Is it?”

“I hope so!”

They sprinted down the corridor together, which was probably inappropriate in both of their cases; Liam as a guard and Louis as a psychologist should not have been running to hug the returning prisoner who had only just been released from hospital – but the fact was that they both  _liked_ Harry, and they missed him, and they weren’t going to miss the chance to welcome him back just because it wasn’t in their job descriptions to be friends with him.

They burst into the main hall to find Harry cheerfully sprawled out on his usual sofa, grinning up at everyone with his bandaged arms hanging loosely at his sides. He looked far happier than he had for days; the sparkle was back in his eyes, and his cheeky grin showed no sign of faltering. His curls were soft and natural and freshly washed, not like they had been the last time Louis had visited him; he remembered Harry moaning about how disgusting his hair was and how long it had been since he’d washed it. His cheeks were just the right colour; peachy and with just a little colour, and his dimples flashed as he smiled. Beside him was Niall and they were having a proper conversation, which Louis found a little odd; he hadn’t known that Harry and Niall were friends. But then again, he’d never noticed Harry having any friends at all; he was a perpetual loner, and not because people shunned him, but because he’d never seemed interested in making the effort to talk to anybody.

“Hey, Harry!” Liam greeted, “you look better.”

“I  _feel_ better. How’s my favourite psychiatrist?” Harry looked up at Louis and smiled warmly.

“Buried in a mountain of paperwork…which you’re about to add to. You’re well overdue for your next session.”

Harry tutted. “Disorganised.”

“This  _is_ me we’re talking about. Come on, drag yourself away from your admirers, we have things to discuss.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry pushed himself up off the sofa and lightly punched Niall on the arm. “I’ll catch up to you later, yeah, Nialler?”

“All right, man. See you around.”

Harry smiled at the blond boy and patted him on the knee, and then he followed Louis across the room and they headed for the office.

“ _Nialler_ , huh?” Louis murmured as they walked.

Harry shrugged self-consciously. “Yep. He’s not a bad kid, I guess. I think it’s about time I made some friends in here.”

Louis fell silent.  _Ouch._

Looking up, Harry said quickly “Apart from you, obviously.”

Louis’ answering smile was a little too bright, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Oh, wow,” Harry said as they opened the door to Louis’ office; “you weren’t joking. This place is a mess.”

“I dropped some stuff when I heard Niall yelling,” Louis said casually, pretending he hadn’t almost had a heart attack and thrown himself out of his office like it was about to explode, just because of the possibility that Harry might be back.

Harry’s little cough and the smile he hid behind his hand showed Louis that clearly he wasn’t very convincing. He wondered if Harry knew that Louis adored him – and how he felt about that. His cheeks grew hot.

Sliding into the chair, Harry looked around the room. “Well then, I guess it’s time for a catch-up.”

Their ‘catch-up’ lasted far longer than the designated twenty minutes – in fact, it was closer to an hour. Or possibly two. Clock-watching was the last thing on Louis’ mind. He was fascinated by Harry; the conversation they had captivated him like nothing else could. Eventually, Harry relaxed enough to just start  _ranting_ , and the mental state he was in had Louis sat open-mouthed, amazed by the thoughts going through Harry’s brain. So caught up was the boy in his revelations that he no longer required a response, and eventually Louis forgot that he was supposed to be listening, commenting and analysing. His pen fell to the floor and he just sat and  _stared_. When he let his mind drift for a few minutes and just let Harry talk, he felt like could watch the movement of Harry’s lips framing words forever. Every infinitesimal twitch of Harry’s face had him frozen in interest, wondering what it could mean, from his eyebrows raising to the tiniest frown. His eyes lingered on Harry’s curls for the longest time, curiously wondering what it would feel like to touch them and feel silky hair sliding through his fingers. Then he found himself watching Harry’s amazing eyes, and observing every passing emotion that flickered through their gentle green depths, completely enthralled.

Such was his absorption that it took him a good five minutes to realize that Harry had stopped speaking and was simply watching him, quiet for once, his expression unreadable. Blushing, Louis tore his gaze away and stared at his papers, embarrassed.

“It’s late. You should probably go.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “I probably should.”

He didn’t move an inch from his seat.

They examined each others’ faces for a while.

“You owe me biscuits, Tomlinson.”

“Damn. I’ll have to get those.”

Louis wasn’t sure why they were still talking. From the longing glances they were giving each other, they probably should have been kissing by now.

“You’d better – or you’ll have to be…punished.” Harry’s voice was so silky that it weirdly reminded Louis of a caress. He shivered slightly, overcome with the odd feeling that Harry had touched him even though there was still an extremely formal distance between them.

Okay, they  _definitely_ should have been kissing.

Taking a deep breath, Louis leaned forwards ever so slightly. He looked Harry right in the eyes, and then at his lips, then let his gaze drift back to Harry’s eyes again. He repeated the gesture several times, waiting for a response – it was a fairly subtle flirting technique, but a very persuasive one, and one that he owed credit to his psychology textbooks for.

Harry opened his mouth as if he was about to speak, but words failed him. Swallowing, he looked at Louis and nibbled his lower lip anxiously.

Louis said weakly “Ha –”

“Louis, you do realize you were supposed to have left half an hour ago?”

The two of them flinched and turned to see Niall stood in the doorway, staring quizzically at Louis. Neither of them had heard the door opening, and they stared at him in shock.

“Right!” Louis blurted out. A hand jumped to his hair, which only ever happened when he was nervous – rare, for him. “Yeah! Of course. Um…I’d, uh…I mean…I’d better, uh, go. See you tomorrow!”

Grabbing one of his folders, he was halfway out of the door before Niall tapped him on the shoulder.

“Louis? Tomorrow is Saturday. You don’t  _work_  on Saturdays.”

“Oh. Well. I, um…I guess I’ll see you on Monday, then. Bye!” his words blurred together and he was rushing off before he’d even finished his sentence.

Niall and Harry stared after him. Glancing at Harry, Niall raised an eyebrow questioningly, as if to say _what’s gotten into him_? Harry shrugged in response, and they left it at that.

 *  *  *  *  *  *

It had been too long since Louis had spent an evening with his friends – they seemed to share that opinion. When he got home and let himself into his dark, silent flat, he nearly fell over in shock – because Stan, Hannah and about six other people were cheerfully sat on his kitchen floor, downing shots and stealing from his fridge like they owned the place. Instead of getting mad and kicking them all out, like he probably should have done, Louis yelled delighted insults at them and started up a mock-wrestling match, all nine of them rolling around squealing on the floor like children. Still, even Louis could see that having eight hyperactive drunks in his rather small flat was not the most sensible of ideas – which was why they ended up in the local park. Louis and Stan sat on the swings while everyone else sprawled lazily on the floor, and a casual conversation was struck up out of nowhere.

“How’s your  _job_?” Stan asked smugly. “I bet you’re going insane.”

“Nah,” Louis reassured him, “it’s all right, really. I’ve made a couple of mates.”

Wide-eyed, Hannah demanded “What, like…the prisoners?”

A grin crept across Louis’ face and he fought to get rid of it. When his face was suitably blank, he shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly. “Yeah.”

“ _Ooooooooooh_!” came the high-pitched chorus.

“Ooh, I’m Louis and I think I’m so hard with my jail buddies!” Ben teased.

“Check out the gangster Louis with his law-breaking crew!”

“Yeah, mate! I’m hard, me, chilling in the criminals’ crib!”

The entire group cracked up laughing, Louis included. He shook his head, grinning at the friendly teasing, and then leaned backwards and started gently swinging back and forth, the chains of his swing creaking.

”I don’t think I’ll ever go to work,” Stan said dreamily. “I’ll just live off unemployment benefits until I’m ancient and too old to have a job.”

“You’ll get a crap pension, then.”

“Who cares? Live life for the moment! It’s  _your_ motto, Boo; try living by it.” Stan poked him playfully.

“I  _am_ living life for the moment. I like my job.”

“I bet you don’t.”

“I do!”

“I bet you hate it, really. You dread waking up in the morning and having to drag yourself in…and then spending all day listening to criminals whining about their problems and the injustice of the British Law system…” Stan shook his head amusedly. “It sounds awful.”

“Shows how much you know,” Louis said defensively; “it’s great.”

“Come on, then – what makes it so wonderful?”

“I’ve got my own office,” Louis began, “and a filing cabinet…and a photocopier, and a desk, and two chairs. And a plant!”

“Bad-ass,” Hannah teased.

“My mate Liam is one of the most important security guards there!” Louis boasted.

That was stretching the truth a bit; Liam was hardly an authoritarian figure where official matters were concerned, but he was friends with almost everyone and therefore his opinions were sought among almost every petty dispute among the prisoners, and many people saw him as some kind of leader, a guy you could go to for pretty much anything. It was basically an outright lie, and Louis prayed that no one would call his bluff and catch him out.

“I get free biscuits,” continued Louis, pulling his best ‘truthful’ expression.

_That_ was certainly true – so long as he provided them first.

“Good God, free biscuits!” Hannah said sarcastically. “Someone’s gone up in the world.”

Stan was looking extremely unimpressed. Everyone else just looked bored.

“It sounds…” Jamie began.

“Nice.” Hannah said tactfully.

“Boring!” corrected Stan, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, anyway,” Louis interrupted, “that’s not the best part, not by far.”

“Oh, God, I don’t think I can take any more! What’s next, filtered coffee?”

“ _No_.” Louis paused dramatically for effect. “You see, there’s this guy…”

Immediately, everyone perked up interestedly. Hannah propped herself up on one elbow and Stan tilted his head to the left. Everybody else sat up and eyed Louis, sensing gossip.

“Spill,” Stan commanded.

“Well…” Louis hesitated, uncertain where to start. “He’s…”

“Tall, dark and handsome!” Hannah giggled.

He blushed. “I guess. Yeah, he is.”

“Tell me more!” ordered Stan. He grinned, leapt up and then started singing “ _Tell me more, tell me more –_ ”

Louis clamped a hand over his mouth. “Enough with the show tunes! Do you want to know about Harry or not?”

“Oooh,  _Harry_ , huh?” Stan said as he sat back down.

“Yeah.” Louis smiled slightly.

“I want  _details_ ,” Hannah prompted. “What colour are his eyes? What’s his hair like? How tall is he?”

“His eyes are amazing…they’re kind of green, and really, like… _intense_ , you know what I mean? Like he sees right into your soul…he’s got lovely eyes. His hair is brown; darker than mine, sort of chocolate-coloured, and it’s curly; you know, those kind of really nice loose curls, not like an old granny’s perm.” He grinned. “As for height…he’s taller than me, just a little bit; he’s about  _so_ high.” He held out a hand at vaguely Harry’s height to demonstrate.

“There’s one thing you forgot to mention,” Stan said.

“Oh? What’s that, then?”

“That you  _totally_ fancy him, of course!”

Louis blushed. “I don’t,” he muttered.

Hannah’s mouth fell open. “Oh my God, you  _do_!” she squealed, hands flying to her mouth.

Mortified, Louis stared at her. “I do  _not_!”

“Oh my God, you  _so_ do,” Stan agreed.

“Louis has a crush!” Hannah cried.

“I do  _not_ have a crush!”

Of course, the more he tried to deny it, the more insistent they became.

“Louis has a crush, Louis has a crush!”

“Shut up!”

“Not until you admit that you have a crush!”

He hated the stupid word; he’d always hated it. It sounded pathetic, and it  _was_ pathetic. “I  _don’t_ have a _bloody_ crush, Hannah!”

A chorus of wolf-whistles had his cheeks flaring bright red with embarrassment.

“Don’t even  _try_ to deny it,” Stan told him, “it’s written all over your face.”

“It is  _not_ a crush,” Louis growled. “So I like him – so what?”

“How  _much_ do you like him?”

“…A lot,” Louis admitted grudgingly.

“Awww! That’s really sweet!”

“Shut up!”

“But it  _is_!”

“Whatever,” Louis said shortly, “it doesn’t matter anyway. He’s a prisoner, and I’m his psychiatrist. It’s along the same lines as student-teacher relationships. It could never work.”

“You mean like  _Romeo and Juliet_?” Hannah asked delightedly.

“What?  _No_!”

“A pair of star-crossed lovers,” she said dreamily, folding her hands across her chest and sinking backwards until she lay flat on her back in the grass, dandelion seeds sticking in her hair and grass stains rubbing onto her white shirt. “It’s adorable!”

“Don’t be silly,” Louis told her sternly. “I’m no Romeo.”

“Oh, I know  _that_.” Hannah sat up, giggling, and brushed a few stray blades of grass off her top. She looked at him mischievously and announced, “You’d be Juliet.”

Louis lunged for her – he didn’t care that she was a girl; he was gay, and therefore it was socially acceptable for him to punch her.

 Laughing, Hannah leapt up and danced out of his reach, and after a few more seconds of irritation he settled back down with a sigh, setting the swing back in motion. For a minute or so, Louis swayed on the padded black seat in silence, staring moodily at the ground.

“Forget it, guys,” he said, trying not to sound sad. “Nothing can ever come of it.”

Stan patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t give up, mate.”

“Yeah,” Hannah agreed. “After all –” she leaned back dramatically “ – love  _always_ finds a way.”

Louis snorted in disbelief and pulled the bottle of tequila towards him. If love could find a way to get Harry out of prison and into his bed, he’d officially give up psychology and become a Jehovah’s Witness.


	11. Chapter 11

Anne looked anxiously at her son from her side of the table between them. He didn’t  _look_ right. His sleeves were rolled down over his wrists to hide the bandages, but of course she knew that they were there, and he just looked a little feminine with material covering his hands so that only the tips of his slender fingers were visible. He didn’t seem tired or hungry or anxious, as he had on her last few visits; his hair was immaculate, every smile reached his eyes and touched her with genuine warmth, and he no longer slouched in his chair like he was afraid to be noticed. In fact, she would have been completely satisfied with his behavior if he hadn’t been so ridiculously distracted. **  
**

Focusing on their conversation seemed beyond him; he listened attentively, and yet she would refer to something she had mentioned only minutes ago, and his forehead would crease in confusion. He was apparently incapable of recalling anything they had discussed in the last fifteen minutes, and this worried her immensely – as did his constant glancing around, like there was someone he was expecting to see.

 Liam was walking past for the fourth time when he spotted Harry peering across the room instead of listening to what was being said, and he deliberately veered off course, interrupting his calm pacing up and down to pass Harry’s table. As he walked beside the curly haired boy and his worried mother, he tutted to himself.

“I don’t know why you’re bothering looking for him, Harry; you know it’s his day off.”

Swallowing, Harry nodded and quickly fixed his attention back onto Anne, colour rising in his cheeks as he pretended not to have heard anything. Curiously scrutinizing her son, she examined his uncomfortable expression for a few moments, trying to discern a meaning from his reaction. Harry had always been easy to interpret and Anne prided herself on being an expert at deciphering his emotions from the tiniest of motions. Still, as she took in Harry’s flushed face and awkward air, she had to admit defeat.

“Who’re you looking for, sweetheart?”

“Nobody,” Harry mumbled.

Anne raised an eyebrow. “Nobody, hmm?”

“That’s right,” Harry said firmly. “Nobody.”

“And would ‘nobody’ happen to be an  _attractive_  nobody?”

He hurriedly avoided her gaze, and Anne interpreted that as a yes.

“Go on, then. What’s he like?”

Determinedly ignoring her, Harry said loudly “How’s Gemma?”

Usually, Anne would have dived right in at an opportunity to proudly advertise her daughter’s achievements to anyone who would listen – and a good few people who wouldn’t have, if she’d given them the chance to object – but she was intrigued by Harry’s behavior.

“Come on. Who is he?” She grinned. “Would I like him? Is he hot?”

Harry squirmed. “ _Muuuuuuum_.”

“I’m not going to shut up about it. I want to know.”

“We’re not discussing this, Mum.”

“I’ll keep on being embarrassing until you tell me.”

“Go for it.”

Anne wrinkled her nose. “You’re so mean to your old mum.”

“Come off it,” he snorted. “You’re not old.”

As if to prove him right, Zayn wandered past with his hands thrust deeply into his pockets, raised his eyebrows at her and wolf-whistled. Anne rolled her eyes and giggled while Harry turned bright scarlet – just because he knew his mum was attractive didn’t mean he wanted to watch his mates flirt with her. Gesturing violently at Zayn in a way that suggested a painful and early death, Harry shook his head disapprovingly and looked at the floor.

“Just give me a name?” Anne pleaded.

Harry shook his head stubbornly, and sent a sweeping glance around the room just from pure habit.

Niall, sitting a couple of tables away, spotted the searching look. “Hey, Harry!”

“Yeah?”

“Louis isn’t in today, right?”

Mortified, Harry shot a horrified glance at his mum, who was smirking in satisfaction.

“No,” Harry said faintly, so quietly that Niall struggled to hear him from across the room.

“Then why are you looking for him? You  _are_  looking for Louis, right?”

With a self-conscious shrug, Harry quickly turned away – and found himself face to face with the biggest grin he’d ever seen on his mother’s face in his life. Harry recognized his own happy smile in his mum’s expression; he could see where he’d got it from.

“Who’s Louis?”

“Nobody.”

She pursed her lips sternly.

Harry sighed. “He’s my psychiatrist,” he admitted.

“…Oh.”

“Yeah,” he agreed wryly.

“But you like him, don’t you?”

“Sure. He’s great.”

“ _Harry._ You  _know_  what I mean.”

“ _Yes_ , I like him!” Harry said impatiently.

Anne was wary now. “But…you know you can’t…”

His expression was guarded; he didn’t catch her eye.

“Harry,” she said gently, “it’s absolutely fine to have a crush. There’s no shame in that…as long as you realize that nothing can happen between you two.”

“Of course I do. Why would he want to go out with me? He’s older, for a start – and he’s really clever and funny, and good-looking. I know I don’t have a chance. He’s out of my league.”

“Shush!” she scolded, “that’s not what I meant!  _Nobody_  is out of your league, Harry. What I meant was…if you and him entered a relationship that wasn’t  _strictly_ professional…he could lose his job. He’d have a permanent record; he could get jailed himself.”

“I know,” Harry said dully. He’d been trying to forget that part; it was just another of the many barriers that seemed intent on stopping him and Louis from being together.

“Don’t look so  _miserable_! It’s not the end of the world. If he’s older than you, chances are you wouldn’t be a good match anyway. You’ll find someone else; when you get out of this place, I bet you’ll step out onto the street and walk straight into someone else’s arms,” she told him encouragingly, rubbing his arm.

“It’s only a two year difference,” Harry muttered sulkily – but he sighed heavily. Maybe she was right.

Making a sympathetic face, Anne waited for him to gather his thoughts together. After a short pause, Harry looked up and forced a smile.

“So…you never told me how Gem was.”

 

 *  *  *  *  *  * 

 Louis got to work feeling ashamed. He knew that no one could have witnessed his conversation with his friends the other day, but that didn’t stop him from being paranoid about it. Taking a deep breath, he held his head high and tried to fake confidence as he entered.

He nearly ran into a team of people who were relocating Zayn, carrying his stuff out of his cell and then walking down the corridor with it. Curiously, Louis followed them, and to his surprise, he found that Zayn was standing in Niall’s cell, making the bed on the lower bunk and chatting non-stop to a confused but clearly pleased Niall.

“Hey, guys. What’s going on?” Louis asked.

“Zayn’s moving in!” Niall announced happily.

Louis was confused. “Zayn, I thought you already  _had_ a cellmate.”

Zayn shrugged. “Let’s just say we’ve had…a disagreement. We don’t get on any more.”

“Since when?”

“Maybe since last night, when they were screeching insults at each other until the early hours of the morning, and Tom nearly punched Zayn in the face,” Niall suggested quietly.

Zayn grimaced. “He never would have got me. Dean didn’t have to grab him. I could’ve handled it.”

“I know, man,” Niall said. “I know.”

“So I guess you two are going to be good friends,” Louis said brightly.

“Hopefully.”

“Of course we will!” Niall decided.

Louis looked at Zayn. “If you don’t mind me asking, why did you and Tom fall out?”

With an uncomfortable cough, Zayn looked away. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but…I kind of  _do_ mind. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Okay, fair enough.” Louis smiled warmly at him. “Listen, guys, I have to go. I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

 He started wandering aimlessly down the corridor when a voice behind him stopped him in his tracks.

“Hey, Louis!”

“Hi, Liam.” Stopping, Louis smiled at him. “I guess you’ve made a few new sleeping arrangements.”

“Hmmm? Oh, yeah! Zayn and Niall. It had to be done; Zayn and Tom were ready to murder each other last night. Besides, Niall deserved a cell-mate; I felt bad for him, being on his own. I know him and Zayn won’t have any problems; Niall’s a great kid, he could make friends with anyone.”

“I don’t suppose you considered…putting him in with Harry?” Louis’ attempt to sound casual fell flat.

“With Harry? Why?”

“They get on. And Harry must feel kind of lonely as well.”

“We wouldn’t do that. Harry’s not really cell-mate material, if I’m honest. He screams in his sleep, remember? And when he’s not doing that, he’s snoring…or muttering. It wouldn’t be fair. Niall wouldn’t get a wink of sleep if he shared a room with Harry.”

“Oh.”

“It was a nice thought, though.”

“Yeah.” Louis sighed. “Look, I have to go – I’ll see you around.”

He didn’t have to go anywhere, of course; he just wanted to be alone for a little while. Liam nodded and turned away, and Louis started walking in the general direction of his office, letting his mind wander. Several people waved at him as he passed them, and he gave them all an automatic smile, but he wasn’t really focusing on them; they could have stuck their middle fingers up in his face and he would still have smiled. He couldn’t help wondering whether Harry felt lonely being the only one to sleep alone…and smiling to himself as he considered that he would quite willingly change that if the opportunity arose.

****


	12. Chapter 12

Over the desk, Harry and Louis were having a staring competition. Neither of them had verbally acknowledged the childish game, but their eyes had been locked together unblinkingly for a good few minutes, and they sat frozen in place, waiting. Louis had his arms resting on his desk and was leaning forwards slightly, while Harry lolled back in his chair and watched him with a relaxed, open expression. Of the two of them, Harry was the least afraid to show his feelings; he wasn’t scared of disapproval if anyone found out the thoughts running through his head about the owner of the blue eyes he was watching. Louis was slowly nibbling his bottom lip as he watched Harry: his mouth was the only part of his body that moved; he was holding his breath. They hadn’t spoken since Harry had first entered the room and taken his usual seat, and Louis was comfortable with the silence. He used the opportunity to examine Harry thoroughly. His eyes were lit up from the inside with emotions; love, happiness, laughter and an ever so slight tinge of longing. Shivering slightly at the intensity of the emerald-eyed gaze, Louis took a deep breath and licked his lips nervously, knowing that he shouldn’t have been so deeply fascinated by Harry’s eyes. His gaze carefully drifted upwards to take in the rest of Harry’s face with an odd sense of excitement tingling deep in his abdomen, although he wasn’t entirely sure why. Eyes lingering on Harry’s face, Louis stopped to take it all in. Several chocolate brown curls had fallen across Harry’s forehead, one of them particularly catching Louis’ attention because it slightly obscured one eye. Still, it was one of many; each one looked unbelievably soft and so shiny…Louis wanted to touch them, to grab handfuls of silky brown curls and feel them sliding through his fingers. Appraisingly, Louis let his gaze slip downwards, all the way down, wanting the entire Harry Styles Visual Experience. One of the first things that caught his attention was Harry’s neck, odd as that sounded. He  _loved_ Harry’s neck; there was just so  _much_ of it that was gorgeous. Amazing collarbones that you could really see but not in a disgusting way, the necklaces that he always wore…and then that jawline, good grief. Louis had spent a lot of his time thinking about  _that_. But eventually he pulled his gaze even further upwards, and sexiness hit him like bullets: bang, bang, bang. Perfect swirling green eyes  – bang. Nose that you just wanted to tap the end of whenever he wore that cheeky smile – bang.  Lips that were made to give the sweetest of kisses, lips that were beautiful when smiling or scowling or even when he was crying, lips that Louis dreamt of at night and that he longed to have touching his – bang. And  _God_ the dimples – bang. **  
**

All of this took Louis only a few seconds to enjoy.

In return, Harry was returning every smouldering stare with a fiercely longing glance of his own; he was examining Louis just as thoroughly as Louis was watching him. Harry was a perfectionist and the details mattered to him, so every second of observation was spent scrutinizing every last detail of Louis’ face, committing it to memory. Louis’ hair needed cutting; the brown, silky tips hung in front of his dark, smoky blue eyes. His lips looked soft; they were pale pink and as Louis’ mouth tightened with thought, they turned white. Curiously, Harry touched his own lips with the tip of one finger. They didn’t feel soft in the slightest – whereas Louis had lips like a girl’s; rose-petal pink and silky smooth. The very thought of what it would feel like to touch those lips against his own sent Harry’s heart racing with anticipation of something that could never come; he shifted in his chair, fighting the urge to leap up and throw his arms around Louis’ neck and kiss him anyway. Swallowing hard to push away the almost overwhelming desperation rising in his chest, he directed his attention to Louis’ sparkling cerulean eyes instead; a far safer and more innocent place to look. They reminded him of whirlpools, dark and stormy and filled with a passionate fire that took Harry’s breath away, even though he refused to let himself belief that the longing in Louis’ eyes was intended for him.

Suddenly realizing that they had been pretty much drooling over each other for a length of time that was rather too long to be easily explained, they both looked away, Louis quickly staring at the door as if he expected someone to burst in, while Harry examined the floor as if it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen in his life. Despite his embarrassment, he laughed quietly, and even Louis smiled slightly in amusement at his own lack of self-discipline.

“What do you want to talk about today?” he offered, feeling that the sweet silence had gone on for a little too long.

Harry seemed nervous; he carefully kept his eyes down and twisted his fingers together where his hands rested on his lap. There was a moment’s pause as he attempted to gather his courage – until eventually, he coughed worriedly and said “I thought…could we talk about love?”

Louis’ breath hitched and stuck in his throat as his heart froze mid-beat and his lungs forgot how to work. For a painful few seconds, he watched Harry warily, but with an odd kind of happiness and a pang of hope sweeping through him. “Yeah, sure, fine by me,” he managed weakly.

“Do you think you can fall in love with someone you don’t really know?” Harry asked.

He deliberated for a moment. “I don’t believe in love at first sight.  _Lust_ at first sight, maybe. But I do think it’s possible to fall for someone very quickly.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed quickly. He paused. “What about true love? Do you believe in that?”

The question was a sweet one, almost childishly innocent; Louis smiled. “Yes. Yes, I do. I believe that there’s someone out there for everyone; you just have to find the right person.”

“Even if other people wouldn’t approve of it?”

“Why should that make a difference? It’s nothing to do with anyone else. If the two people who are in the relationship feel that it’s right, if they’re in love and they aren’t going to change their minds, if they’ve found someone perfect for them, what right does anyone else have to interfere?”

“Society is vicious,” Harry observed.

“Society needs to learn to keep its nose out.”

Harry’s lips twitched into a smile; he liked that answer.

“So…an age difference wouldn’t bother you, then?”

“Nah. I mean, okay, there  _are_ limits – if there’s enough of an age gap that you can’t relate to each other, then the relationship wouldn’t work. But age is just a number; what does it matter what year you were born in? A couple of years makes no difference.”

Louis was acutely aware that Harry’s probing questions were all related to their situation, and he was starting to get butterflies in his stomach, excitement building as he wondered whether the conversation was really heading where he thought it was going. Still, to his surprise, the knowledge didn’t affect his answers; he was responding perfectly honestly to Harry’s queries.

“What about…” Harry’s nerve failed him.

Patiently, Louis waited.

With another awkward cough, Harry muttered “What about s _ame sex_ relationships? Does that…I mean, do you object to that kind of thing?”

Louis snorted. “It would be a bit hypocritical if I did.  _I’m_  not straight.”

“You’re not?” Harry said eagerly, his whole face lighting up.

“Nope. Never have been, and I’m pretty sure I never will be.”

“Good,” Harry said, and then he realized that he’d said it out loud. He blushed, and Louis bit his lip to stop a smile. Harry was ridiculously pleased; his dimples showed adorably as he smiled in delight, eyes alighting on Louis and looking him up and down with new enthusiasm. It was as if his few barriers had faded away and he had given up entirely on being subtle; he might as well have started  _drooling_. It was kind of cute, and Louis grinned at his sweet expression.

“If you’re not…I mean…how do you feel about, um… _alternative_ relationships?”

“You mean, like, transgender? I’m cool with that. At least, I am in theory; I’ve never had to put the idea into practice.”

“No, I meant…student/teacher relationships. That kind of thing.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Louis said. “Well, like I said, you can’t help who you fall in love with. There would need to be some level of discretion about it. And if the student was underage, it’d have to be totally platonic; I think underage sex is silly. You don’t want to mess around when you’re young and rush into things you’re not ready for. But if the student is of age and the teacher isn’t taking advantage of them…” he shrugged. “What harm is there in it?”

Harry nodded.

“It’s illegal, of course,” Louis added.

“Of course.” Harry smiled faintly.

 They had given up pretending that their discussion was purely hypothetical; both of them knew that every question Harry had asked was relevant to them, from the age difference to the forbidden relationship that wasn’t between a teacher and a pupil, but a psychologist and his patient. Trying to make eye contact, Louis waited hopefully to see whether Harry would continue with his questioning. He hoped that he would.

 “I’m not going to be all weird and claim that I’m in love with you,” Harry promised, “because I don’t know you properly. But…I definitely have feelings for you.”

“What  _kind_  of feelings?” Louis asked. “Are we talking physically, or…?”

“Not…not completely,” Harry admitted. “I do find you attractive – of course I do! But it’s not just that. I don’t just have feelings for you…because you’re hot.” He smiled sheepishly. “It’s the things you say. I can’t really explain it. You make me feel  _human_  again. So many people treat me differently because of what I did; they can’t look me in the eye, or they’re scared of making me angry. You treat me like you treat everyone else, and I can’t thank you enough for that.”

Louis couldn’t help but be amused by that statement; he definitely  _didn’t_  treat Harry the same as everyone else. He cared for him far more deeply and more desperately than anybody else – people like Niall and Zayn and Liam were his friends, but Harry was something more than that. Harry made him feel happy and ridiculously mixed up inside, and he couldn’t remember a time when his mind wasn’t constantly filled with wistful thoughts of Harry’s curly hair, gorgeous eyes and constant playful flirting.

“Not  _exactly_ like everyone else,” he corrected with a smile.

“Maybe not,” Harry agreed, smiling back.

“I have feelings for you too, I think,” Louis conceded.

“Even though I’m a murderer?”

“Weird as it sounds, I don’t think that bothers me as much as it did.”

For a while, they watched each other with interest. Louis wondered whether he could acceptably start flirting with the younger boy, and whether that was what Harry wanted. Faint amusement lingered in Harry’s expression as he appraised Louis; he seemed to have similar thoughts in mind. Neither of them  began the banter, though; they just sat and waited. At first, Harry was impatient, longing for one of them to speak – but after a while, he started to relax, and eventually he went back to watching Louis as he had before they had started speaking, and they stayed contentedly silent for a while.

“Are we going to do anything about this?” Harry asked cautiously, “or are we just going to pretend we never had this conversation?”

“Your faith in my self-restraint is quite sweet. I don’t think I could go back to just being your psychiatrist if I tried. Which I have no inclination to do.”

“What  _are_ we going to do, then?”

Harry looked cautiously at him. “We don’t have to  _do_ anything as such. But we could be…us. In a relationship.”

“If anyone found out, we’d be for it,” Louis muttered.

“Then let’s not get caught,” Harry said simply.

Louis snorted. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It could be. Nothing has to change, not really. We don’t have to act any differently. I feel… _different_  when I’m around you. I don’t love you yet; we’re still strangers, in a way. But I’d like to get to know you better.” He smiled. “We can always start out as close friends and then see what happens after that. Who knows? Maybe one day we could have something real. Maybe one day I’ll get out of this place. I’ve got ten years left, but if I stay on my best behavior, they might shorten my sentence… I’ll be a free man, Louis. I could spend my freedom with you…if you want.” He glanced shyly at Louis.

Entranced by the idea, Louis considered that for a while. Living with Harry…it barely seemed possible. But at the same time, he felt warm all over when he thought about it. Waking up beside Harry, spending every day with him, falling asleep in his arms…he barely  _knew_  Harry, but the very thought had him longing to do just that, and spend every second of every day in Harry’s embrace.

“I like the sound of that,” he said. “But…friends? Really?”

Harry smirked. “Friends with benefits.”

“That’s a bit risky.”

“True…okay, then, I’ll have to owe you the benefits.” He grinned. “But how about it? I haven’t broken the law in over two years; I’ve got some catching up to do.”

Louis didn’t reply – but he affectionately blew a kiss into the air in response, and Harry smiled fondly at him. As Louis shook his head and returned the smile, he decided that this was an amazingly bad idea and Harry Styles was going to be the death of him.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Silent conversations were fast becoming Harry and Louis’ forte; there was something weirdly daring about flirting so boldly right underneath everyone’s noses, and even though it was probably dangerous and asking for trouble, it was so exciting and almost addictive in a way that they carried on without considering the consequences. Despite their obvious teasing and the longing looks that they gave each other whenever there was too much distance between them, nobody seemed to suspect a thing. This made Harry giddy; enamored with the idea of having a secret lover, he flaunted his attraction for Louis in front of everyone, unashamedly baiting Louis to a level that was unparalleled by anybody Louis had ever met before. He had considered himself a flirt; usually he would do completely outrageous things in the name of flirtation, but Harry was on a level of his own – Louis had to scold him for being too obvious on more than one occasion, such as when Harry had caught his eye from the other side of the room, winked at him, and mouthed ‘Hey gorgeous’ into the air, punctuating it with a kiss into the air. Luckily, nobody spotted the gesture, but Louis had lectured Harry for a good ten minutes during one of their sessions before a lighthearted remark caught him off guard and they had disintegrated back into silly banter once again.

Louis started living for his weekly twenty minutes with Harry; by fiddling with the clock in the hallway outside his office, he managed to sneak half an hour every session or sometimes more and the guards posted outside were none the wiser, although he had once seen Liam frowning in confusion and poking his watch on a very lucky day when they had managed a whole three quarters of an hour before Harry had been summoned and sent back to the main area with the other prisoners.

These precious moments they snatched together were filled with hours’ worth of conversation crammed into the space of a few minutes; each was determined to understand as much of the other as he could, and topics ranged from their families and friends to their favourite types of food. They were different in so many ways – and yet strikingly similar as well, and even though they never so much as held hands, Louis felt that he could trust Harry with anything. He shared secrets with him that he’d never have dreamed of telling anyone else, and in return Harry confided in him, until there was nothing much else to tell. That was when they truly relaxed around each other; knowing everything there was to know, they relaxed into an easy routine. Louis told Harry about silly things happening in the outside world, from celebrities to the daft escapades of his own family – Harry never failed to be amused by stories of Daisy and Phoebe’s antics – while Harry found out every possible scrap of prison gossip and relayed it to Louis instantly. A strange kind of bond formed between them; they grew so close that Harry became agitated when he went even a day without speaking to Louis, and Louis felt uncomfortable when he stayed away from the younger boy for too long, although they both agreed that he hid it better.

Even talking became unnecessary after the first few weeks. Louis longed to take things a little further, and that longing manifested itself as a desire to sit and stare almost creepily at Harry for long and preferably uninterrupted periods of time. If anyone disturbed him while he was watching Harry, he instantly fell into a foul mood, snapping at everyone and bewildering whoever had tried to attract his attention. Deny it as he might, Harry found this hilarious and sometimes, just to be annoying, he would get up and wander casually around, and then laugh so much he nearly fell over at the sight of Louis’ head bobbing up and down as he tried vainly to keep Harry in sight. This earned Harry several weird looks from all the people who couldn’t understand what he was laughing at, and Louis would just  _pout_ , and sometimes he would sulk, which only made Harry laugh harder.

 Of course, Louis wasn’t going to let him get away with THAT. So when Harry was crammed into the lunch hall, eating, Louis would cheerfully stroll up and down the room, taking long, deliberate strides, and then he would  _casually_ help himself to some food – and he then ate it as provocatively as he could. Sometimes he looked alluring; other times he looked like an idiot, but for some reason, anything to do with Louis’ mouth moving fascinated Harry, and he would simply stare like a moron, forgetting his own food, so that by the time he remembered what he was supposed to be doing and looked down at his plate, he would usually discover that either his meal had gone cold, or Niall had eaten half of it. One time, Harry became so enthralled by watching Louis eat a breadstick in slow motion that when he returned his attention to his food, his plate was completely empty, and Niall was innocently staring at the ceiling with the crumbs from Harry’s sandwich smeared around his mouth. Louis had burst out laughing, naturally, and the disgust on Harry’s face had amused him so much that he had staggered into a wall and slammed his head so hard against it that he almost gave himself concussion.

These silly little moments might have seemed inconsequential to an outsider, but to Harry and Louis they were everything. What they didn’t dare to say, they expressed through playing, and it was the kind of thing that could easily be passed off for a joke – unlike many things that happened within the privacy of the office.

It was nothing remotely intimate; in fact, nothing physical happened between them at all. But the long pauses filled only by yearning, the wide-eyed glances they shared, the odd little murmurs of conversation that betrayed just how closely they confided in each other, and the little moments of synchronization where they mirrored each other’s body language and spoke in unison – all of these things, as far as Louis was concerned, were more intimate than the most passionate of embraces. He wouldn’t have traded those moments for anything – not even a real embrace, a real kiss instead of a wistful fantasy conjured from his imagination. It wasn’t that he didn’t  _want_ to kiss Harry – he did, and so much that it was painful. His chest hurt sometimes because his heart hammered so hard, beating violently against his ribcage like it was trying to burst its way out, and his lips seemed to tingle with an unexplained heat on an increasingly familiar basis, trembling uncontrollably with longing. Even a  _look_ from Harry’s direction could reduce him to an aching mess. Yet despite his wish, he was content just to dream, because he knew that when the moment came, it would be more perfect than the most amazing fantasy he could have come up with. Harry seemed to share the sentiment; he never complained, although Louis caught him rubbing his mouth sometimes with a rueful smile, and occasionally his breath would catch and he would sigh longingly. Those little movements would be Louis’ undoing; his willpower started diminishing at every breath that escaped Harry’s lips, and when Harry huffed in frustration, Louis’ intestines tied themselves in knots, his heart hurtled into the bottom of his stomach, his whole body rippled with shudders of desire and he had to rush out and compose himself. It happened on an increasingly regular basis.

They carried on in that way for over a month, and Louis found himself mooching along the prison corridors with a dreamy expression on his face. Liam, Zayn and Niall all took him on one side to ask him if he was okay, and he assured each of them that he was absolutely fine, just a little distracted – which was entirely true. Liam never bothered approaching him with concerns about Harry any more: Harry was constantly in a brilliant mood, and he wasn’t afraid to show it. Some people glared darkly at him, annoyed simply because he had the audacity to cheerfully stroll around grinning at people, and making conversation with the grumpiest people he could find, just for the sheer amusement of irritating them. Louis couldn’t help but be amused by this childish behavior; seeing scowling middle-aged men hurrying into the toilets in their desperation to escape Harry’s stream of happy chatter never failed to make him smile.

They had nearly reached the two-month anniversary of their sort-of-relationship, and Harry had found an excuse to pop into Louis’ office. That had been a good hour ago. They had begun a conversation about a film Louis had seen with his sisters at the weekend, and somehow had progressed to the pros and cons of ebay, which Harry disapproved of. It was a pretty boring discussion, with Harry outlining in mind-numbing detail every flaw he could find in the site, and ticking off all the possible dangers and ways in which ebay could cause you to be the victim of fraud, overcharging or various other misfortunes, while Louis pretended to be attentive and secretly let his mind drift. He couldn’t be bothered listening to the many faults Harry listed, and he had no desire to join the hate-campaign against the site, so he absently watched the movement of Harry’s lips as he continuously spouted skepticism about ebay’s many failings, which he was adamant overshadowed its benefits. It got so dull that Louis was ready to rip his own ears off, but the sound of Harry’s voice changed his mind; he could listen to that voice forever.

He was about to open his mouth to interrupt Harry’s tirade and point out that ebay was intended for selling mainly second-hand items, which couldn’t be expected to all be in pristine condition, when it struck Louis that he was in love with the curly-haired idiot he was talking to. The realization made him stop dead, and he stared in awe at Harry, who carried on talking, clueless.

“ – but you know, I really think he’s right. I mean, you never know what you’re buying off ebay, do you? I’d never do it. You don’t know what kind of condition the item could be in; it could be complete rubbish and you wouldn’t have a clue until it arrived. I’ve never been a fan of online shopping. Give me a good old fashioned supermarket any d – you’re staring at me, did you know?”

It took Louis a few seconds to realize that Harry had asked him a question, and by the time he realized, he was blushing rather obviously.

“Sorry?”

“You’re staring,” Harry repeated conversationally. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No.”

“Oh, good.” Pause. “So why are you staring at me?”

“I was thinking,” Louis said slowly.

“Oh, God, don’t do that; I’m not sure your brain could take it.” Harry grinned. “What were you thinking about?”

Louis’ answer was instantaneous: “You.”

“Obviously. Anything specifically to do with me, or just myself in general?”

“I was just trying to work out the exact moment when I fell in love with you – but I can’t remember. I just know that…I love you.” Louis smiled to himself.

He should have been troubled by the news; he was acknowledging deep inside that he would do anything for this boy, that he cared for Harry more than he cared for himself. He was tying himself down, committing himself to this, and incriminating himself because he could no longer even  _attempt_  to deny his feelings, and by intentionally having a relationship with his patient, he was breaking the law. The fact was that Louis had fallen for Harry too hard to be bothered by such mundane concerns; he was still stunned by the impact of his sudden rush of feelings, and all sensible thoughts had been banished from his head. He wanted to jump up and down and yell every deepest, darkest thought out to the world; he wanted to proclaim his love from every rooftop of every skyscraper in the world – but at the same time, it seemed a secret thing, something to be cherished and kept close to his heart forever. Still, no matter how much he craved secrecy, there was one person he  _had_ to tell.

“I love you, Harry,” Louis said in wonder. “I really…I really do love you.”

“That’s good,” Harry said softly, leaning forwards and resting his chin on his hand – “because you see, I love you too.”


	14. Chapter 14

Louis was cheerily whistling and playing a solitary game of noughts and crosses against himself when he heard his office door creak ominously. Instantly snatching a stack of papers towards him and sweeping paperwork across the desk to obscure his lonely and slightly pathetic way of killing time, he positioned his pen neatly on the dotted line of something that looked like a form, he started casually signing his name.

The door swung open, and a stony-faced Harry stormed inside, closing it firmly behind him. He collapsed into the chair that Louis would always fondly think of as his, and scowled darkly at the floor, pointedly waiting for Louis to ask what was up.

“Hey, you!” Louis said warmly. “What’s with the moody face?”

“Have you met the new guy yet?” Harry demanded. He paused. “Nope, hang on – you’re still in a good mood; you obviously haven’t.”

“New guy?” Louis asked interestedly, putting his pen down. “What new guy? I didn’t know there was a new guy.”

“Yeah, well, lucky you,” Harry said darkly. “He’s a – ” a tangle of expletives fell from his lips, blurring together into a stream of insults that Louis couldn’t quite make out. Still, he got the general idea; whoever the new guy was, Harry hadn’t exactly taken a shine to him.

“Well, I can tell from your face that he’s your new best friend,” Louis teased.

“I hope somebody punches him!” Harry exploded.

“Have you actually spoken to him, or does he just have one of those faces that looks really tempting to punch?”

“Now you come to mention it, he  _does_. But it was more the fact that he shoved me across the hallway and called me a ‘pretentious arsehole’ that I took exception to. I wouldn’t mind so much if I’d done something to deserve it, but I never even  _said_ anything! He never gave me a chance to open my mouth, ” said Harry indignantly.

“Oh, he sounds pleasant.”

“Yeah, I know. But it’s not just me who hates him. Niall and Zayn want to murder him, too. He insulted Zayn’s hair and called Niall…” Glancing around, Harry leaned in and whispered.

Louis flinched. “ _Ouch_. Jesus, that was just  _uncalled for_!”

“Well, Niall didn’t take it well, and I think Zayn was madder for what the guy said to Niall than what he said to him. You can probably understand why.”

“Somehow I’m not looking forward to making his acquaintance. He sounds absolutely charming, but I don’t fancy starting my Tuesday morning being insulted. You’re sure he wasn’t joking and you took it the wrong way?”

With a snort, Harry said “Did you hear what I just told you? The guy takes one look at Niall and comes out with  _that_ – doesn’t sound like a joke to me.”

“Actually, you’re right. Does this guy have a name, then? Liam brought me a bunch of files this morning; I’ll look him up.”

Predictably, Harry had several rather rude suggestions as to what the obnoxious newcomer’s name should be, but eventually he relented and said “He’s Adam something. Didn’t catch his second name.”

“Hmmm…” Louis flipped through the mound of folders Liam had presented him with, searching for the name. “Ah! Here we go, this looks promising. Adam Burnsley.”

Harry craned his neck hopefully. “Come on, dish the dirt. What did he do? Thump a pensioner? Run somebody over? Steal candy from blind orphans?”

Louis laughed at Harry’s suggestions. “You’re all heart, you.”

He shrugged. “I just want him to have done something bad, that’s all. Something that means they won’t let him out any time soon.”

Pausing halfway through turning a page, Louis pointed out “You’re stuck here as well, you know. Do you really want to live in the same building as  _that guy_ for the next ten years?” He stabbed accusingly at a grainy photo of a glaring skinhead that was stapled to a sheaf of papers inside Adam’s folder.

Harry grimaced. “Ugh, good point. Okay, I hope he’s just staying overnight. Let it be minor. Something stupid, like a bunch of unpaid parking tickets.”

Tutting disapprovingly, Louis looked up from the file. “No such luck. Drug dealer. Mostly Class A. Then there’s a couple of minor offences…theft; nothing big, just a few hundred quid…drink driving… ooooh, now  _that’s_ interesting!”

“What?” Harry leaned forwards, trying to catch a glimpse of the paper.

“It says here that he’s down for GBH as well. He attacked a lollipop lady outside a school….well, that’s just  _charming_ , that is.”

“Oh, God. What kind of idiot beats up a lollipop lady? How do the kids cross the road safely  _now_?”

“Nice to see you’re so concerned for the poor woman he assaulted, Harry,” Louis said mildly, “I’m sure the kids had a lucky escape compared to her. It says here she had to have reconstructive surgery to put her face back together after he was done with her.”

“That only makes it worse,” Harry decided disgustedly.

Louis critically examined the blurred photo. Adam Burnsley looked like exactly the kind of criminal Louis had expected to see in abundance when he had first accepted his job; the thug stereotype might as well have been modeled on him. He had huge, ugly, convoluted black tattoos all over his muscled arms, although the terrible quality of the photo had warped them out of focus so it was impossible to identify what the pattern was supposed to be. His hair was a number-one buzz cut, sharp one-millimeter black bristles poking out of his very pink scalp. On his upper lip, he was growing a lopsided moustache, although it looked more like a random collection of wiry hairs stuck to his face. He had a very large, flat nose, and mean little eyes that were too small and narrowed to see the colour of them. In conclusion, basically he looked pretty damn scary, and Louis didn’t like the idea of being on the same  _planet_ as the guy, let alone the same room.

“Is he as really creepy as he looks?” he asked, warily eyeing the photo.

“Worse,” Harry promised. “He’s more muscled in real life. Think the Incredible Hulk. Think Frankenstein’s uglier twin brother. Think Mr. Blobby gone wrong!”

“Does Mr. Blobby have a gang tattoo?”

“Oh, shut up! You know what I mean. Massive, lumpy and pink. They’d be exactly the same person if Mr. Blobby was a prick.”

Louis snorted with laughter and had to clap a hand over his mouth. “Your eloquence astounds me,” he mumbled through his fingers.

“I’ve got a way with words.” Lazily raking a hand through his hair, Harry sighed and sat up. “I’d better go; they’ll be missing me.”

Ignoring the urge to dodge around the desk, grab Harry’s hand and beg him not to leave, Louis nodded. “Go on, get back out there. I’ll talk to you later.”

Smiling apologetically, Harry vacated the chair and headed for the door. He reached it, paused, and then turned to look at Louis. They drank each other in for a few sweet moments, examining each other’s faces, Louis with a fierce tenderness, and Harry with barely restrained longing, and then a sigh wrenched its way from Harry’s chest as he tugged the door open.

“Watch out for Mr. Blobby,” he teased – and then he left, gently shutting the door behind him.

Louis echoed Harry’s parting sigh with a heavy exhalation of his own. Giving Adam’s notes another cursory glance, he noticed that stamped thickly across the top of the second page in heavy black letters were the words ‘PRONE TO VIOLENCE. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.’

Worried, Louis nibbled his lower lip and hoped that he wouldn’t get on the wrong side of the guy. 

 *  *  *  *  *  *

 Miraculously, Louis didn’t catch a glimpse of Adam until lunch time, when Liam turned up and decided to introduce them.

“I think it’s time to say hello to the new guy,” he announced cheerfully.

Louis was horrified. “Oh, God, do I have to?”

“You’re going to have to meet him some time,” Liam said with a frown, “you’re his psychiatrist.”

“I’d rather put it off for as long as possible; I’ve heard less than pleasant reports.”

Pulling a face, Liam admitted, “He  _is_  kind of…prickly.”

“ _Prickly_? He’s obnoxious! Have you heard what he said to Niall?”

Liam shook his head. Louis sighed and leaned in to whisper, and when he pulled away Liam was slowly shaking his head, like the disgusting words had left a ringing in his ears.

“Nice.”

“That’s exactly what I said.”

“Who told you that?” Liam asked interestedly.

“Harry,” Louis replied before he realized that maybe he shouldn’t have said anything.

Liam laughed. “Well, he and Adam have certainly hit it off as well. Didn’t he call Harry something uncomplimentary as well?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“In that case, we can add Harry to the list. So far, Niall, Zayn, Hamish, Mike, James and Joe have all come to me moaning that Adam said something or other that they didn’t much like. I won’t tell you every single thing they told me, but I think Niall’s bit of abuse tops everything he said to anyone else. All I can say is that the guy is definitely imaginative.”

“What’s he got against Niall? Of all the people for him to instantly dislike, why would it be Niall? I don’t think Niall’s ever said a bad word against anyone in his life.”

“Maybe that’s exactly it. Maybe he’s figured out that Niall is the least likely to stand up to him. It’s the bully mentality.”

Louis smiled grimly. “Well, Niall might not fight back, but it sounds like Harry and Zayn have every intention of doing it for him. Apparently Zayn was ready to knock him from here to the end of next week – and I know that Harry wasn’t impressed. I’ve not seen him get that annoyed for a while.” He couldn’t help but smile slightly.

Suddenly apprehensive, Liam said worriedly, “I thought he was doing a lot better lately…he’s seemed so much happier…”

“Oh, he is!” Louis promised. “And I mean it this time. No, trust me, he’s fine in himself; he just got a bit irritated. But I don’t think he and Adam should be encouraged to spend time together, for the sake of Harry’s sanity.”

“That’s probably for the best,” agreed Liam. “If you’re sure he’s okay…”

“I’m positive.”

“Well, then, if Harry can deal with meeting Adam, so can you. HEY, ADAM!” Liam yelled.

“ _Liam_!” hissed an agonized Louis.

On the other side of the room, a huge man hauled himself off the sofa, his wide face flushed, and slowly started crossing the room. He wasn’t fat, just frighteningly muscular, and he had an extremely unfriendly face that looked like it would break if he cracked a smile. Louis shrank back as Adam approached, knowing that showing he was intimidated would only make matters worse but instinctively wanting to get away from him. He swallowed hard as Adam lurched to a halt and scrutinized him with hard, mean eyes, then looked at Liam.

“Adam, this is Louis,” Liam said, sounding impressively unfazed by the big man towering over them. Adam must have been over six feet tall, and he looked down at them distastefully, which only added to Louis’ unease.

“Hi,” Louis squeaked.

At the sound of his voice, Adam’s lip curled in contempt, but he said nothing.

“I’m your psychiatrist,” Louis attempted bravely, holding out his hand for Adam to shake.

There was a long pause while Adam looked disgustedly at Louis’ long fingers as if he was diseased. Eventually, Louis awkwardly withdrew his hand and looked at the ground, unsure of how to react.

“I don’t need a shrink,” Adam told Liam, “I’m not mental.” His voice was toneless and grated on Louis’ nerves; it was one of the most irritating sounds he’d ever heard.

“Nobody in here is mental,” Louis said a little sharply. “I’m here as someone to talk to, not to label you as a lunatic.”

“I don’t need to talk to you,” Adam answered rudely. “And actually, there’s  _heaps_ of nutters in this place. Look at that kid there.” He pointed at Harry.

Instantly, Louis stiffened. He wasn’t sure he could stand listening to someone badmouth Harry.

“He’s completely round the bend,” decided Adam, “total psycho. He was giving me the worst look I’ve ever seen, earlier – and when I walked past him just now, he gave me a mouthful of abuse!”

 _Oh, Harry,_ Louis groaned inwardly.

Liam looked concerned. “We’ll have to talk to him about that. Nonetheless, Adam, sessions with Louis are compulsory, I’m afraid.”

Adam’s face twisted. “I’m not crazy!”

“Well if you’re sane, you won’t mind proving it, will you?” Louis said acidly. “I’ll see you in my office later. Bye, Liam.”

Before Liam could stop him, he had turned and was heading for the lunch hall, despite the fact that he’d just eaten. On his way, he spotted Harry lingering at the back of the room, leaning heavily against the wall with a brooding expression on his face, pretending to listen to Niall. Louis hadn’t seen Harry frown in weeks; the sight unsettled him. He caught Harry’s eye and raised an eyebrow.

Harry mouthed  _‘What do you think of –?’_ and jerked his head at the rapidly retreating Adam, who seemed to be determinedly fleeing the scene before he could be forced to talk to any more of the prison staff.

Louis pulled a face and mimed violently throttling someone. He continued to wrestle with mid-air for a good twenty seconds before Hamish spotted him and stared in horror at his wild thrashing.

“Are you having a  _fit_?” he demanded in a panic. Seeming to decide that Louis was choking, he attempted to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre  and Louis found himself being squeezed very hard by the lanky ginger man as he yelped and desperately tried to explain that he wasn’t dying.

Eventually, Louis managed to convey his message and an embarrassed Hamish quickly released him and rushed off, adjusting his shirt as he went. Louis stared after him, recovered slightly and hurriedly tried to act normal so that nobody else would attempt first-aid procedures on him. A huge grin lit up Harry’s face and he burst out laughing, much to Niall’s bewilderment. Before the blond boy could turn and see the source of Harry’s amusement, Louis slipped off and left the room, shaking his head in amusement. In his line of work, there was literally  _never_ a day where nothing ridiculous happened.


	15. Chapter 15

“I’m not going in there! I’ve got nothing to say to him.”

“Come on, Adam, be reasonable. It’s only twenty minutes!”

Louis frowned and looked up at the door of his office. It was closed, but behind it he could hear scuffling and the unmistakable sound of an extremely irritating voice complaining bitterly. The moment he had been dreading for hours had arrived. He reached for the button under his desk and stroked it for reassurance.

The door swung open and Adam sullenly stepped inside, gently propelled by Liam. Louis was amazed that Liam was strong enough to push the huge man over the threshold; as soon as Adam entered the room it seemed to shrink. It was not a large office, and he seemed to fill the entire room. Sitting up a little straighter like he wasn’t totally terrified of the scowling man in front of him, Louis nodded.

“Take a seat, Adam,” he said pleasantly, gesturing at the empty seat in front of his desk.

The only response was an angry grunt. Louis thought wistfully of the blazing smile Harry could have been giving him at that moment if it had been him occupying the chair. Adam blankly looked at him, his silence an obvious refusal to do as he was told.

“Adam…” Liam said warningly.

With a slightly forced smile, Louis shrugged. “He can stand if he likes. Makes no difference to me.”

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he  _wanted_ Adam sitting in Harry’s chair. He by no means objected to loaning the chair to all of the other prisoners, because he either liked or tolerated them – but to have someone he had already realized he disliked occupying his boyfriend’s chair, the chair that Harry sat in so often that it had started to smell like him, the chair that Louis would sometimes curl up in when he was alone, the place where he felt closest to Harry than anywhere else except when they were actually together…the idea filled him with dread. He realized that he hated the thought of seeing the huge and ugly man collapsing into the chair that, weirdly, felt kind of like home to Louis and gave him so many happy memories of Harry.

Adam looked murderously at Louis, analysing the stiff smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Realizing that Louis didn’t want him to sit down, he smirked obnoxiously – and dropped into the seat. Of course.

Louis decided at that moment that Harry had most definitely been right – this guy was  _begging_ to be punched in the face. Plastering a painfully fake smile onto his face so as not to add to Adam’s satisfaction, he gave Liam a reassuring look and then redirected his attention to Adam as Liam coughed quietly and slipped from the room.

Taking a steadying breath, Louis opened his mouth. “Right, well, I thought we could start by talking about –”

“I’m not saying  _anything_ to you!” Adam snapped. “I don’t have mental issues!”

 _Clearly you do, or else you wouldn’t be yelling at me for trying to have a normal conversation._ “No one is saying that you do. We just feel that it’s constructive to talk about your feelings and motives so that you’re not tempted to break the law again once you’re –”

“I don’t even have to open my mouth. You’ll be hearing about this from my solicitor!”

“It helps to acknowledge your emotions; everyone else has agreed that having a confidante has been very good for them; they like knowing there’s someone for them to tal –”

Adam rudely cut him off once again. “There’s no point in this! You don’t want to be here, I don’t want to be here – so why the hell _are_  we still here?”

Louis was furious at being interrupted so many times; he exploded, anger rising and then overflowing. “In case you hadn’t noticed, this is prison, not nursery school! You don’t get to choose what you do. You screwed up and you’re getting punished for it, and that includes having to talk to  _me_. Kicking up a fuss will make  _no_ difference.”

“I wouldn’t mind talking to you if you weren’t –” at the last second, Adam fell silent.

 “If I wasn’t  _what_?” Louis hissed.

“You’re gay!”

There was a long pause, and Louis  _glared_ at him. He had a feeling he knew what was coming, he knew he didn’t like it, and he  _didn’t_ know how this total stranger had apparently sussed out his sexuality within minutes of meeting him. Inwardly, he was panicking, paranoid that his jokey exchange with Harry earlier had been spotted, frightened that he was going to get caught out…but his outrage at Adam’s blatant homophobia sent words flying out of his mouth that couldn’t be taken back, and he wouldn’t have unsaid them even if it had been possible.

“So what if I am? It’s not a crime.”

“It bloody well should be,” Adam said disgustedly. “It’s  _wrong_.”

“Oh, for God’s sake! How many narrow-minded people are there in this world? Love is love; gender makes no difference.”

A torrent of swearwords, insults and abuse came pouring from Adam’s mouth, and he directed every single one of them at Louis. Wincing at the viciousness behind the words, he focused very hard on not being afraid – what right did this total stranger have to belittle him, to tell him that he as a person was wrong? Focusing on Harry’s face in his mind, Louis thought about every time Harry had made him smile, every time Harry had made him cry, every time he had longed to touch Harry and not dared to, every time he had almost screamed in frustration because he was so in love with him – and that steadied his resolve. He refused to be ashamed of who he was, and far more importantly, he refused to be ashamed of Harry. Even though hopefully Adam didn’t know about that part.

“Are you  _quite_ finished?” he asked acidly when the man paused for breath.

“No,” Adam muttered, but he reluctantly closed his mouth.

Louis suspected that he’d run out of ideas rather than that he’d suddenly become remorseful for his behavior, but at least the insults had stopped, and that was something. “If I’m honest, my sexuality has little – if any – relevance to your treatment. There’s no need to discuss it further; I’m not going to treat you any differently. It might be nice if you could return the favour.”

“I don’t like gays,” spat Adam, saliva spraying from every direction. Louis abruptly brought his face out of spitting range.

 _And I don’t like small-minded homophobic idiots, but you don’t catch me complaining._ “Your evident prejudice is an issue we could explore,” he said mildly, reaching for a pen as if to start taking notes.

The bright pink face with the squashed nose contorted. “The only place  _you_  want to explore is my arse!”

“You’re not my type,” Louis said dryly, and he scribbled down  _obnoxious homophobic twat_ on the first line.

Typically, that provoked another outburst of hatred, and Louis calmly tuned it out until it was nothing more than a vaguely irritating buzz in the background, as he’d been trained to do, but he felt the tips of his ears turning red as he struggled not to rise to the bait. For ten whole minutes he tolerated the angry rant against him, his sexuality, his morals and his principles, and he said nothing. He allowed Adam to loudly share the opinion that he, Louis, was a disgusting, abhorrent freak of nature, that he would be alone forever, that he was pathetic and was only gay because he was incapable of attracting women. Apparently, he was probably a paedophile and a rapist as well as being gay, which was an accusation that Louis found particularly hard to stomach, being as broody as he was. He adored little kids, and not in a sexual way; having it suggested that he abused children was an injustice that he thought it would kill him to ignore.

After the first ten minutes, he sat gritting his teeth and simply concentrating on not leaping up and strangling the swearing man who sat in front of him. Using every anger management technique he could think of, from slowly counting down from ten to screaming inside his head, he valiantly suffered through another three minutes of insults, and then simply attempted to distract himself so that he couldn’t listen. Casting his mind back to the psychology textbooks he’d slaved over in college, he listed as many parts of the brain as he could remember, and their functions, which occupied him for a while.

But eventually he ended up listening to every single vicious word that fell from Adam’s huge mouth, and he would never have admitted it, but petty though they were, a large number of them found their mark, and he had to swallow hard to stop himself from flinching.

Thankfully, the timer went off. Louis had slowly grown to hate that timer, and the horrible buzzing sound it made; it meant an end to his time with Harry, and he despised the droning noise as it went off, but as it quivered and hummed on the desk in front of him, he was almost tempted to kiss it.

Pausing halfway through calling Louis a rude name and suggesting that he was mentally disturbed, Adam said hopefully “Is it over?”

“For now,” Louis said wearily, hoping he didn’t sound as relieved as he felt.

Without saying anything else, Adam vacated the chair and stormed over to the door. Without waiting for Liam, he growled something under his breath and then prowled down the corridor, looking every bit as malicious and unpleasant as Louis knew he was.

Sighing shakily, Louis got up and wandered over to Harry’s chair. He touched it apologetically, then sat down and buried his face in the upholstery. At first he grimaced, because the harsh scents of bitter aftershave and clinical soap were overpowering, masking the soft, warm, familiar smell of Harry that clung to the fabric – but when he breathed deeply, he inhaled the scent of Harry’s hair, a smell he knew in an instant despite having never personally sniffed Harry’s curls for himself. Comforted by Harry’s presence, manifesting itself through smell, Louis gathered himself together and shook himself like a wet dog, trying to get rid of the horrible insults that clouded his brain.

He went in search of Harry, in the end; it seemed the most sensible course of action. It didn’t take Louis long to find him lingering around the doorway of the corridor leading to his office; apart from the office itself, that was one of Harry’s preferred haunts, mainly because they could snatch a few seconds’ conversation there as Louis passed by on his way in and out. Hurrying down the hallway, Louis stood beside Harry and leaned against the wall beside him, pretending to be casual. Harry saw through the act immediately, of course – but it wasn’t Harry he was trying to fool.

“How was it?” Harry asked sympathetically.

“It was a bloody nightmare,” Louis said in a low voice. “I’ve never met anyone as unbearable in my life. He has about as much empathy as a stick and the personality of a plant – and not a nice plant. Stinging nettles or a thorn bush; that kind of plant.”

Harry grimaced. “That bad?”

A grim, humourless laugh escaped Louis. “Worse,” he said darkly. “He spent the whole twenty minutes hurling abuse at me because I’m gay.”

Sharply sucking in a breath, Harry paused for a moment and then let it all out in a quiet, angry hiss. “He didn’t.”

“Oh, he most definitely did.” Louis snorted. “When he wasn’t accusing me of being a paedophile.”

“Oh, Louis.” Sliding surreptitiously closer, Harry slipped his fingers around Louis’ wrist and held him in a grip that was meant to convey sympathy and love all in one.

Louis was suddenly too distracted by the fact that they were touching to dwell on the horrible remarks Adam had made. It was the first time since the incident in the hospital that his skin had come into contact with Harry’s, and it felt  _amazing_. The simplest gesture, a tiny movement that nobody else could see, and yet they were almost holding hands. Louis felt his chest tighten and invisible sparks fell from the tips of Harry’s fingers where they brushed against his wrist, dancing up his skin and leaving tingling patterns that made him shiver lightly.

“Ignore him,” Harry murmured softly. “Don’t listen to a single word that comes out of his mouth.”

“Easier said than done,” Louis muttered, his head spinning.

Harry’s hand was pleasantly cool against his, the skin smooth and soft. Their arms were touching, and Louis felt the raised lines of Harry’s scars brushing against his forearm. He didn’t comment on it; he simply enjoyed the sensation, the light touch of skin on skin and the sweet warmth of flames flowing through him wherever they came into contact.

“I mean it,” Harry breathed. “Don’t you listen to a word.”

“I won’t pay him any attention.”

“Don’t even  _listen_ ,” Harry commanded. For the sake of appearing to be having a casual chat, he didn’t make eye contact, but Louis could feel that beside him, Harry was unnaturally still, tension running through his shoulders and anxiety colouring his tone. “I’m serious; put your hands over your ears, listen to loud music, wear giant earmuffs, buy earplugs…I don’t care what you do as long as it doesn’t involve paying attention to  _that guy_.” He glared viciously at the back of Adam’s head on the other side of the room.

“You’re adorable when you’re angry,” Louis murmured.

“Don’t change the subject. Just nod your head and say ‘Harry, I promise I won’t take anything that moron says seriously’. Say it!”

“Harry, I promise I won’t take anything that moron says seriously,” Louis repeated obediently – but he crossed the fingers of his free hand. He wasn’t making any promises he couldn’t be absolutely sure he would keep.

“Good,” Harry told him in satisfaction. Reluctantly, he loosened his grip around Louis’ slender wrist and released him, and Louis carefully shifted away from him, ignoring the screaming urge to turn his head, nuzzle against Harry and press his face into his shoulder. One day, he would snuggle into Harry’s side, slotting perfectly into his side, and he would be able to cling to his love and reassure himself that way. One day.

“Well,” Louis said, raising his voice slightly, “thanks for telling me. We’ll discuss that in more detail when I next see you, shall I?”

Unsurprised, Harry nodded, adjusting his tone to suit the conversation Louis was acting like they had just had. “Sounds great.” Nobody would have doubted him; even his eyes seemed truthful. Harry was good at pretending.

“See you,” Louis said, and he headed towards the exit, towards freedom, away from Harry and away from where he really wanted to be, despite the other unpleasant person occupying the building.

The moment he was truly outside, he slipped around the corner and leaned against the outer wall with his eyes closed, suddenly fighting tears. Wrapping his arms protectively around himself, he focused on the sensation of Harry holding his wrist, and determinedly ignored the harsh words still circulating his brain.

_Don’t you listen to a word._


	16. Chapter 16

Louis did honestly have every intention of not listening to Adam, and at first it seemed to work – they avoided each other, and had no contact whatsoever, not even eye contact. Still, Adam’s presence lingered everywhere he went, worsening not only his mood, but Harry’s as well. Almost every time they spoke, Harry had another bitter complaint to make, and although Louis understood, he kind of wished that they didn’t have to talk about Adam. He missed their easy banter, he missed them being carefree and having a relationship that was easier and more enjoyable than breathing, and even though it was still there, and Harry was still Harry, it started to feel like Adam was ruining everything just by being around. **  
**

Then, things got even worse, because all of a sudden, Adam started making things a whole lot worse. Seemingly determined to make Louis’ life a misery, he started appearing everywhere Louis went simply for the purpose of muttering filthy comments as he walked past, or making obscene gestures that made Louis burn with embarrassment and caused his skin to crawl. Louis started wishing that the prison was a whole lot bigger: when Harry had been the only one constantly looking for him, he had loved that it was small and finding each other took mere minutes – but it was distracting and uncomfortable to find Adam turning up every time Louis and Harry tried to snatch a second together. If he hadn’t been so sure that Adam would have immediately turned them in if he had even the faintest idea of their relationship, he would have sworn that the man was doing it on purpose. As it was, he decided that it must just be bad luck.

Still, whether Adam had an ulterior motive or not, he was driving both Harry and Louis insane. They mutually decided that it was unwise to speak to each other at length if anyone was within hearing range, seeing as neither of them had the restraint to hold back a little of the flirting, and therefore every time Harry approached Louis only to see Adam lurking behind him, he had to swerve and head to the other side of the room, clenching his fists – and whenever Louis started wandering in Harry’s direction and spotted a familiar muscular body standing in his way, he had to be content with a quick nod at Harry, or sometimes a wistful smile. After six days of this, Harry and Louis were both practically tearing their hair out with frustration; every time he saw Adam hanging around, Harry would growl and flex his fingers as if he were going to throttle him, and Louis just scowled at him, and braced himself against another wave of the abuse that never seemed to ease off.

Carrying an enormous mug of coffee with six sugars in it, Louis slowly walked up the corridor, knowing that at least Adam couldn’t follow him  _here_. He sighed and pulled the door open, slipping inside with a sense of relief. It didn’t last for long; he frowned as he scanned the room and realized that it wasn’t how he had left it. Someone had neatened the previously messy heap of paper on his desk and his high-backed chair was turned to the wall when he could have sworn he’d left it facing the desk…confused as to why anyone would break into his office to tidy up, he slowly walked forwards and placed his coffee on the desk, ready to start yelling and punching whoever leapt out at him.

All of a sudden, Louis’ chair slowly spun around to reveal Harry sat in it, stroking a white fluffy toy cat and looking at judgementally at Louis. For a while, Harry’s eyes travelled up and down, scrutinizing every inch of Louis’ body and absently petting the soft toy on his lap. Eventually, he grinned and relaxed back into his chair. Louis felt his eyebrows fly up in confusion.

“Ah, Mr. Tomlinson, I’ve been expecting you,” Harry said, in a typically evil-villain type voice, manically stroking the cat.

Louis let out a snort of laughter as he stepped forwards and dropped into the chair Harry usually occupied. “You’re mad.”

“I know,” Harry agreed with a laugh, throwing the toy away. It landed neatly in the wastepaper basket, although Louis wasn’t sure whether that had been intended or was just lucky.

“You’ve broken into my office,” Louis pointed out.

Letting his fingers trail across the desk, Harry smiled and cast his gaze down to the wood. “Your observational skills astound me.” He looked up and his whole face seemed alight with happiness as he watched Louis, feeling a ridiculous sense of relief at finally being able to talk to him again. “…God, it’s really weird being on this side of the desk.” He paused and looked up as Louis made a tiny noise to attract his attention.

“I’ve missed you,” Louis said softly, leaning forwards and surreptitiously shifting the chair a few inches closer to Harry.

“I’ve missed you too,” Harry murmured. “I could  _kill_ that Adam.”

“So could I. The homophobic abuse is getting tired.”

Shocked, Harry demanded, “Wait, he’s still doing that?”

“Of course he is. It would be less irritating if he at least varied the insults a little bit. He’s called me a faggot at least thirty times in the last three days.”

“ _Louis_! You should report him!”

“What good would that do? He’d only deny it. Anyway, I’m not supposed to take any notice. It doesn’t usually bother me, although the time he accused me of being a child molester, I must admit that I found that a little offensive.” Louis smiled bravely.

Suddenly, Harry was out of his chair, shoulders heaving, looking furious. Louis blinked several times in surprise.

“Harry?”

“I’ll kill him,” Harry choked in a low voice. “I’ll…I’ll  _kill_ him!”

“Harry, sit down!” Louis said pleadingly.

“I’ll strangle him with my bare hands!”

“Harry!”

“I’ll –”

“HARRY!”

Louis was almost frightened as he leapt up and grabbed Harry’s arm; he’d never seen Harry so livid in all his life. Those green eyes burned with anger and fury, a dark, churning sea of emerald. His mouth was hard and his expression almost insane, fists clenched and body stiffened. He stood shaking with rage, his whole body shuddering as if he might explode, and his face was darker than storm-clouds. His mouth trembled, lips pressed fiercely together like he might start yelling if he opened them even a millimeter wide. Every inch of him screamed  _dangerous_ ; he was clearly close to losing it completely and starting to smash things. Louis felt Harry trembling underneath the hand he had placed on his shoulder, saw the scorching look in his eyes, and he swallowed, hard. For the first time ever, he was afraid of Harry. For the first time ever, he truly believed that this boy was capable of murder.

“Harry,” Louis repeated, slightly more gently. “Calm. Down.”

“I’ll kill him!” Harry hissed.

“You’ll do no such thing. Calm down, okay?”

“Why are you telling  _me_ to calm down? You should be begging me to give him what he deserves!”

“Don’t.”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”

“Harry…”

“I could do it. You know I could.”

“Yes, I do know that. But you  _won’t_.”

“I want one good reason why not.”

Louis opened his mouth.

“A  _good_ reason,” Harry warned.

Louis rolled his eyes, and then reminded him “If you kill him, you’ll get a longer sentence. I don’t want that to happen. You have to be on your best behavior at all times, remember? That way we can get out sooner.” Stepping forwards, he slipped his arms around Harry’s waist. It felt strange to be touching him after so much deliberate avoidance of physical contact, but incredible all the same, and even more so because Harry seemed to slot so perfectly into his arms like they were two corresponding pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

For the first few seconds, Harry stayed stiff and unresponsive in the embrace – but after a moment or so, he reluctantly breathed out, all the tension leaving him, and his body molded perfectly into Louis’ arms, the warmth of him making Louis feel weak at the knees. Harry’s arms found their way around Louis, and they stood holding each other for a while. Louis rested his cheek against Harry’s chest, and Harry pressed his nose into the top of Louis’ head, inhaling the scent of his hair with another sigh.

“I want to punch him so badly,” he said wistfully.

Louis laughed quietly against the fabric of Harry’s shirt. “Me, too. But just remember that if you do anything reckless, we’ll both suffer for it later on.” His hands moved from Harry’s waist to the small of his back, daringly pulling him closer.

“I know.” Harry turned his head and slowly brushed his cheek against Louis’ hair. “I’ll try – for you, I’ll try. For  _us_. But I swear, if he says one more horrible thing to you, I’ll hit him!”

“You’re so violent. Remind me why I love you?”

“I don’t even know…but I know why  _I_ love  _you_.”

“Oh, God, are we going to have a contest to see who can be the most slushy?” Louis teased.

“Definitely,” Harry said dryly, “because that wouldn’t be a total waste of time or anything.”

“With you, nothingis  _ever_  a waste of time,” Louis countered immediately, his expression perfectly serious – but his eyes twinkled with humour, and it was clear from the silly voice he was putting on that he was joking.

Harry nudged him playfully. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yes I am.”

“You really are. You’re a complete and total  _idiot_ – but shall I tell you something? You’re  _my_ idiot.”

A small smile crept across Louis’ face as he carefully lifted his head to rest it on Harry’s shoulder. In return, Harry leaned his head to the right so that his face and Louis’ faces were beside each other, cheeks touching. Harry’s cheek was soft and smooth, and Louis could feel the adorable indentation of a dimple as Harry smiled too. His face was pleasantly warm next to Louis’, and Harry shifted slightly so that his curls brushed lightly against Louis’ forehead. Absently allowing his hands to drift upwards, Louis traced intricate patterns against Harry’s back with the tip of one finger, and Harry’s hands were on his back in return, strong and protective. It was impossible to tell which one of them was smiling more: Louis was straining his face, his cheek muscles aching, but Harry’s whole face seemed to be taken up with a sweet grin that made Louis’ heart pound. They beamed for a while, heads together, watching the wall as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

“I’ll always be your idiot, Harry,” Louis promised, taking his left hand away from Harry’s back to link his fingers with Harry’s. “No matter what.”


	17. Chapter 17

Harry lasted nearly six days before he snapped.

He had been slowly tensing up day by day, deprived of Louis’ company and craving his touch. Their quiet embrace in the office had done exactly what it had been intended to; it had calmed him, in the first instance. However, it came with a side-effect; having his skin against Louis’ had proved strangely addictive, and Harry’s every waking – and sleeping – moment was filled with torturous longing. This made him easily irritated, and therefore not the most tolerant of people. Harry was like an elastic band being slowly stretched out as far as it would go; inevitably at some point he would break with the strain, and it wouldn’t be pretty.

Everything annoyed him. The four walls of his cell annoyed him. The people he encountered when he left it annoyed him. The familiar surroundings and painful monotony of prison life annoyed him. Miserable people annoyed him – their gloomy expressions made his own bad mood worse. Having said that, cheerful people annoyed him too; what reason did they have to be so happy? Being alone with only his own sharp thoughts for company annoyed him – but having to try and make conversation with people annoyed him as well. Even  _Louis_ annoyed him, simply for being himself and stirring such desperate, primal urges deep in Harry’s abdomen, making him hungry in ways he had never thought to experience, sending him longing thoughts every few seconds of exactly what he and Louis could have been doing at that precise moment in time. He couldn’t focus because of his attraction for Louis that was an afterthought to everything he did. Even the slightest thought ended with Louis’ name tacked on the end; Harry wondered what Louis’ opinion would be on something, or he had thought of something Louis had said, or he had an idea for something that would suit Louis. Nothing seemed to catch his attention enough to dismiss these tiny thoughts, which, again, was annoying.  _Everything_ was annoying _._

Harry gritted his teeth. He wasn’t used to being in such a foul mood; until  _bloody_ Adam had turned up, he’d been deliriously happy every single day, and the black mood that he couldn’t shake off was unwelcome.

Speak of the devil – there Adam was, plonked heavily down on a sofa glaring at people. Rude. Harry scowled at him, wishing he had lasers in his eyes that could singe the back of the man’s head. The thought amused him; he spent several minutes musing over what sort of supernatural abilities would be the best for exacting revenge upon people, and exactly what he would do to them if he could. When he resurfaced into the real world, he found the buzz of conversation irritating, and was tempted to stick his fingers into his ears. He could happily have daydreamed for the rest of the day – if the living embodiment of sex itself hadn’t suddenly walked through the double doors and begun striding confidently across the room. Leaning his chin on his hand, Harry let his elbow rest on the arm of his chair and leaned over, watching in silence with a small smile on his face as sex passed him by without a second glance.

Sex personified – or, as most people called him, Louis – had just passed by Adam’s seat, when he paused and turned to look at the pink-faced man lounging on the sofa. An expression of shock crossed his face, quickly followed by hurt. A flash-burn of anger, like lightening, in the bottom of Harry’s stomach had him grabbing the arms of his own chair with both hands, clawing at the fabric to keep himself from leaping up and rushing to Louis’ aid.

Whatever Adam was saying, it was obviously horrible; even if Harry hadn’t had an excellent view of Louis’ miserable face, Adam was so vicious that whenever he opened his mouth, nine times out of ten it was to deliver an insult. With an awful feeling twisting his insides around, Harry stared worriedly at Louis, who was forcing an unconcerned expression but clearly very upset; looking very closely and straining his eyes, Harry could see his bottom lip shaking with effort to hold back any words from coming out. Then, Louis’ face blanked, and hurt blossomed across it in a great wave as he stared, appalled, at Adam. Harry was watching with such a fierce intensity that when Louis’ mouth fell open in horror, he didn’t only notice – it was the unexpected and terrible tear shining on his left cheek that he found himself staring at.

Harry truly became an elastic band in that moment, and he snapped, as he would always have done. However, instead of pinging back and stinging someone’s fingers, he launched himself across the room and flew at Adam almost before he had time to acknowledge what he was doing.

He had the advantage of surprise, and he managed to send Adam sprawling to the floor with his very first blow. They rolled off the sofa, hitting the ground with a thump, and Harry smashed his elbow against the concrete floor so hard that he howled in pain. Disregarding his own injury, he quickly pulled back his fist and swung, punching Adam hard on the jaw before the man could figure out what was going on. It didn’t take long for it to dawn on Adam that he had been punched; with a roar like an angry bear, he attempted to smack Harry on the side of the head. Smaller, and therefore faster, Harry dodged the punch and pummeled Adam’s ribs with his fists, hard, enjoying the satisfaction of raining the blows down even if they seemed to be having little effect. Next, he seized a thick pink wrist and dug his nails in, scratching long, bloody furrows into the skin that instantly began weeping blood. Who said nails were a girl’s weapon? They certainly worked; Adam bellowed and tried to wrench his arm away – so of course Harry held on.

He was so caught up in the fight that he didn’t see the shock on Louis’ face as Adam and Harry crashed to the floor. The only sound he could hear was the blood rushing through his ears and his own breathing, so he didn’t hear Louis cry “Harry, stop!” When Louis reached down and frantically started trying to drag the two of them apart, Harry didn’t recognize the frantic touch of those familiar hands, and he jerked away from Louis, raking his hands down Adam’s arms again with a hiss.

It had been a long time since Harry had been this violent; the last time he had been so angry, he had lost his mind for a while, and the only thing he had been aware of were his own shouts, loud thumps, and someone crying out in agony – and then he had resurfaced with blood on his hands and a knife on the floor beside him, and the man who had attacked one of his closest friends was lying on the floor gasping raggedly, taking his dying breaths. Harry had felt his rage slowly fading, and he had calmly watched as the life faded from the monster he had killed – and frighteningly, he had felt a sense of grim satisfaction that he had fought for someone he loved. He was terrified of getting that feeling again – and yet if he did, he would welcome it, because somehow it meant more this time. It was Louis, his lover, not just his friend; the urge to take care of him meant more than it ever had with Michael – and even  _that_  had been enough to inspire murder.

Harry let his whole body go limp for a few seconds, and when Adam relaxed his grip slightly in surprise, Harry twisted and punched him in the stomach several times, then rolled away and tried to scramble up so that he would have a height advantage. At the last possible second, just as Harry was leaping to his feet, Adam’s huge hand shot out, snatched a massive handful of Harry’s curls, and held on. Harry’s weakness had always been his hair: the right touch could have him sighing in ecstasy and collapsing into someone’s arms with a smile. The wrong touch, however, could have him writhing on the floor yelling, and this was most  _definitely_  the wrong kind of touch.

Trying to use the man’s weight against him, Harry started wriggling and kicking in a way that nobody Adam’s size could have managed, trying to shake him off. When it became clear that throwing him off wasn’t an option, Harry changed tack: he got Adam in a headlock and hung on for dear life. Adam thrashed violently and a giant fist crashed against Harry’s nose, so hard that it instantly started bleeding. Harry coughed and blew out furiously; the blood that had been dripping onto his lips sprayed outwards in a scarlet fountain, like ocean waves crashing onto a beach.

“Harry!” Louis cried.

Once again, Harry attacked, this time with a well-aimed kick that unfortunately Adam redirected at the last minute by lashing out and trying to slam his foot into Harry’s leg. Seeing red, Harry punched, scratched, tugged harshly on the tiny bristles of Adam’s hair and even viciously pulled his ears, determined to inflict as much pain as possible before they were dragged apart. Adam snarled and jerked his arm, ramming his elbow right into the centre of Harry’s forehead, making him yelp in pain – and then fall worryingly silent as he staggered back and flopped against the floor with a low groan as his entire body started throbbing.

It took him a few stunned seconds to get his breath back, by which time Adam was lunging for him again. Rolling out of the way, Harry caught hold of Adam’s leg, trying to pull his feet out from underneath him, but the man was too huge for anything Harry did to make him lose his balance. When Harry stood up again, panting hard, he ducked underneath a poorly-aimed punch, intercepted the next by lashing out himself, and then leapt at Adam and started pushing him in the chest, trying to knock him over.

“Break it up!” someone said firmly.

Harry screeched, knowing he was about to be restrained, and exchanged a few more token blows with Adam from his fists, following them with a kick. He was trying to sink his teeth into the man’s fleshy shoulder when someone grabbed his arms and pinned them behind his back in a hold that seemed unbreakable.

“I said break it up!”

Recognizing Liam’s voice, Harry found himself being shaken hard, and then dragged away from the yelling Adam. He fought desperately, wanting to get a few more good whacks in for Louis’ sake, but Liam was strong and he had the upper hand. Hauling Harry backwards, he pinned him against the floor, yelling “STOP IT!”

“LET ME GO!” Harry screamed wildly, flailing for all he was worth with his arms and legs shooting out in all directions. “GET OFF ME!”

“Stop fighting me!”

“I’LL KILL HIM!” yelled Harry. “I’LL DO IT NOW!”

“Jesus Christ!” Liam threw all of his weight down, pressing Harry against the floor. “Harry, stop it!”

“I’M GOING TO BREAK EVERY BONE IN HIS BODY! JUST LET ME GO AND I’LL WIPE THE FLOOR WITH HIM!”

“Harry!”

“I’LL KILL YOU!” Harry screeched at Adam, who was sitting up with a bewildered expression on his wide face.

His features, though confused, were no less unpleasant. Already his left eye was turning purple and swelling violently, there were claw-like marks from Harry’s nails running down his cheek and arms, streaming blood. He was bright red in the face and completely stunned – although it didn’t take him long to open his mouth, even past the lovely bloody lip Harry had given him.

“You’re mental!” he said thickly, the words sounding odd from his swollen mouth.

Harry’s only response was a furious howl as he violently tried to shake Liam off. Seconds later, John and Dean, two of the other security guards, were rushing to help Liam, holding Harry down. Such was his anger that Harry was almost a match for them, he nearly managed to wrestle free a good few times. Harry was so intent on breaking free to leap at Adam again that he didn’t see how horrified Louis was, standing only a few feet away.

“Someone get some restraints!” Liam growled, struggling with Harry, who was still desperately fighting to get free.

With a click, Dean yanked a pair of handcuffs from his belt and then all three guards focused on trying to get Harry’s arms behind his back so that they could fit them on. Of course, Harry wasn’t giving up, so he tried wrenching his hands free – and ended up squashed against the ground with his cheek pressed into the floor, while Liam sat on him and John fastened the handcuffs around his wrists, finally locking him in place. Sighing in relief, Liam got up and the three of them dragged Harry to his feet. He was shaking with rage, bright red in the face with blood pouring from his nose, and he looked almost deranged as he glared murderously at Adam.

“I’ll kill you,” Harry repeated darkly.

“That’s enough,” Liam snapped. “What the hell’s gotten into you? Come on, we’re taking you to the governor.”

Harry’s head jerked in horror. How was he supposed to comfort Louis if he was with the  _stupid_ governor? He tried to pull away, but all three guards were wise to him now and held him in place with ease.

“Let’s move,” John said, not unkindly, and then he started tugging Harry along.

Harry looked up and stared straight into Louis’ face, agonized. Louis was standing a short distance away, watching him with a worried and pitying expression on his face. At the sight of Harry’s bloody nose, a shocked Louis blinked and then gave Harry a heart-wrenchingly beautiful look that made Harry shudder with longing. Biting his lip, Louis glanced around and then his face twisted with guilt as he spotted Adam, who was being mopped up by another of the guards, and realized exactly how much trouble Harry was in. Sadly, Louis shook his head and buried his face in his hands for a moment. Feeling like an idiot for breaking his promise, Harry waited until Louis lifted his face again and mouthed  _I’m sorry_ as pleadingly as he could manage. Taking a deep breath, Louis stared miserably at him and then did something which made Harry feel ten times worse – he  _smiled_ sadly. It was a heartbreaking smile, a sympathetic one, a brave smile as Louis forced his own feelings back to try and make Harry feel better – and it didn’t work, because it made Harry feel horrible. He’d let Louis down; he’d let  _both_ of them down.

Liam took his arm and started helping John to guide him down the corridor. Harry twisted frantically in their grips, not trying to break free but just desperate to look at Louis, to catch his eye, to apologize without words. It didn’t do any good; Louis wasn’t looking at him. He was giving Adam the nastiest look Harry had ever seen, and the malevolent expression looked  _wrong_ on Louis’ usually carefree face.

As he was rushed past, Harry turned his head whispered “I’m sorry!” barely loud enough to be heard so that nobody else could overhear it. He wished he could stop and say it again, and again and again and then say it louder, and then shout – no,  _scream_ it from the rooftops, and get a megaphone and yell his apology into it at the top of his voice, and then broadcast it around the world ten thousand times so that Louis truly understood how much he meant it.

Then he caught Louis’ eye, saw the anger turn to sadness and a soft, sweet sense of understanding – and he thought with relief that maybe Louis  _did_ know.


	18. Chapter 18

Louis’ head jerked up as the door of his office clicked softly, and as Harry slipped into the office he was out of his seat in an instant, rushing towards the boy. He stopped dead only a few steps away from his desk at the sight of Harry’s red eyes and pale complexion. Clearly he had been crying non-stop for hours on end, if not all night; his eyelashes were spiky and moisture clung to them, and his flushed face was still damp. Dark shadows underneath his swollen eyes made Louis’s heart ache, as did the almost insane hopelessness in Harry’s eyes. Those green irises had never been so emotionless; they were dull with only the tiniest spark of life, and even that was rapidly dying. A whole night had been far too long to wait for some news; Louis had been haunted by it – and yet, looking at the trembling Harry, his colourless face, desperate expression and the fresh tears that were already falling, he instinctively realized he gladly would wait another fifty years without knowing – because he didn’t  _want_  to know. Harry was crying unashamedly as he closed the door behind him, and Louis froze with horror, wanting to do something but unable to move or even breathe properly as he waited with an awful sinking feeling for the news.

“I’m sorry,” Harry wailed, and his hands flew up to cover his face.

“How bad is it?” Louis asked, the words tasting odd and his mouth struggling to form them.

Harry looked up. “As bad as it can be.” His trembling lips twitched into an awful, humourless smile.

“Tell me.”

“I’ve let you down,” Harry whispered. “I made you a promise, and I let you down.”

“Harry!” Louis begged. “Tell me!”

“You told me not to do anything stupid. I’m an idiot. I’m such an idiot…”

Louis wondered if Harry could even hear him; he was muttering to himself with a dazed look on his face, arms wrapped defensively around himself, swaying back and forth as if he might fall to the floor and curl up in a ball at any second.

“ _Please_ , Harry!”

Something dark and desperate flared in Harry’s eyes as he looked up, and Louis wished he could take the words back, because he didn’t want –

“They’re sending me away, Louis.”

Louis felt his chest give a horrifying throb – and then his heart shattered.

At the sight of Louis’ horror, his blank, shocked expression and the confused agony in his dark blue eyes, Harry let out a strange, tearful laugh, touched by hysteria. Then a strangled noise fell from his mouth and he stumbled forwards another step.

With a low groan, Louis staggered to meet him, and Harry collapsed into his arms. Seconds later, the boy was sobbing into his shoulder, and Louis clung to him, crying himself, tears falling hot and fast into Harry’s hair even as Harry’s tears poured down Louis’ neck. Somehow, Louis found himself rocking backwards and forwards, cradling Harry in his arms and clinging to him, his muscles screaming because he was holding on so tight, but he refused to let go. The words echoed in Louis’ head, but they didn’t make sense. He didn’t want them to be true. Harry was shaking against him, and Louis felt like he might be sick. His arms tightened around Harry, needing him to be closer even though it seemed almost impossible for their bodies to be nearer to each other; they were already so entwined that they were practically one person.

“Where?” Louis forced out.

Why was he still asking these questions? Why did it even  _matter_? Harry was being sent away –  _nothing_ mattered. The world was ending, the apocalypse was coming, and the worst part, Louis knew, was that nobody apart from the two of them knew what this felt like, how much it hurt. Nobody cared. And somehow, past the ball of agony in his chest and the lump in his throat, the sobs building deep inside him, the shudders of their bodies and the sudden desire to fall to the floor and just s _cream_ , he was saying the word “ _where?”_ as if knowing would make some sort of difference. It was almost enough to make him laugh, but that would have hurt just a little bit too much. His whole body was fractured; he was amazed that somehow he hadn’t fallen apart yet. Harry was holding him together –  _just_ – but when he left, Louis would fall apart at the seams…and he would beg for that moment to come, because everything else hurt.

“Some place called Whitehall _,_ for ‘dangerous’ criminals. Like me, I suppose.” Harry managed a very watery smile and then burst into fresh sobs.

 _Dangerous?_ Louis thought wildly to himself, hanging on for all he was worth? Dangerous, this boy? The boy who was crying so desperately, so unrestrainedly, the boy who was hiding his face in Louis’ neck and clinging to him with both hands? The boy who he was so in love with, and who loved him so strongly back? This boy? Never.

“They can’t,” Louis insisted.

“They can, and they are doing. Apparently I’m dangerous. I’ve ruined everything, Louis, and I’m so sorry!”

Arms tightening, Harry squirmed as closely to Louis as he could get, into a position that they had never managed before, so near to each other that Louis blushed and he would have been having ten thousand inappropriate thoughts if he hadn’t been crying too much to think of anything sexual. His hands raked frantically through Harry’s curls, focusing on how they felt as they slipped through his fingers, committing the sensation to memory, and he breathed in sharply, wanting to inhale as much of Harry’s scent as he could. His face ended up buried in Harry’s hair, taking it all in, feeling the amazing silkiness of it rubbing against his tearstained face, and he brushed his lips against the top of Harry’s head again and again, caressing the boy’s cheek as he kissed his hair endlessly, with a desperation he’d never known he was capable of.

“How long have you got?”

“A day,” Harry said, and he gave a shaky, hysterical laugh as more tears fell and rolled down Louis’ neck. “Maybe less. They’re sending the van right now.”

Louis moaned helplessly and kissed Harry’s head even harder.

“I love you,” Harry whispered. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Shaking his head, because that sounded too much like a goodbye, Louis held him tight, and suddenly his hands fell from Harry’s shoulders to his back, and then his waist, and somehow he was grabbing Harry’s hips and clawing at him, digging his nails in. Harry winced, but he didn’t move away, and Louis roughly bit him on the neck, almost hard enough to draw blood.

“I’ll never let you go,” he growled.

“Louis…” More tears.

“Shut  _up_!” Louis hissed.

He didn’t have to listen. He wouldn’t. He bit Harry again, even harder, digging his teeth into Harry’s shoulder, biting at his collarbone, and at every snap of Louis’ teeth Harry flinched. Louis wondered if there would be bruises. Dragging Harry towards him, he heard Harry yelp and felt his own jolt of pain as their hips collided, sharp bones slamming against each other, and then he slipped his fingers into Harry’s hair and pulled it as hard as he good, almost like he was ripping it out at the roots. He barely knew what he was doing – only that it wasn’t helping, and yet he couldn’t stop.

“Louis…” Harry murmured. “Louis, stop.”

“No,” Louis protested, and he held on even tighter. He was attacking every available inch of Harry’s body, punishing him, almost.

“Please.” There was pain in Harry’s voice – unsurprising, really; Louis had bitten his collarbone and left a huge purple ring of teeth-marks on his neck. But it wasn’t just the physical pain that made his voice shake.

“You  _idiot_. I told you not to do anything stupid! And now they’ll take you away, and you’ll…and we’ll…you  _idiot_ , why didn’t you  _listen_ to me? You  _never_ listen to me!” Louis cried, and he started weakly trying to punch Harry in the chest until eventually he was overcome with tears and ended up falling into Harry’s embrace, all his strength gone. Not even his bitter, desperate anger was enough to hold him up; Harry had to support him, and even he was shaking with the effort of keeping them both on their feet.

“ _Please_ , Louis,” Harry breathed against Louis’ neck. “We don’t have much time left – I don’t want to waste however long we have by fighting with you.”

Those words alone were the only thing that could stop Louis. Relenting, he stopped battering Harry and threw his arms around him again, still holding their bodies close enough together to leave bruises – but those were the kind of bruises they both wanted. They were the kind of bruises Harry would have kept forever if he could.

“Okay,” Louis said softly. “I’m sorry.” He reached up and wiped a tear away from the corner of Harry’s eye. “Don’t cry.”

“I’m trying not to,” Harry promised. “But, you know…you’re crying too.”

“Yeah,” Louis admitted, and he almost laughed – but he couldn’t quite manage it.

For a while they held each other, Louis feeling Harry’s body shaking against him, and absently stroking Harry’s back like that would make everything better. Still, Harry seemed to appreciate the gesture; he brushed his forehead lightly against Louis’ collarbones and sighed heavily.

“Remember that time,” Louis said with a smile, “when I had that lollipop? I walked around licking it, just to wind you up…and you were so distracted by watching me that you walked straight into a door?”

A smile found its way onto Harry’s face, and his lips curved upwards without him meaning to laugh at the memory. “Of course I remember. How could I forget?”

“I thought I was going to fall over, I laughed so hard,” Louis reminisced softly, smiling again. “But you know what the best thing was? You got up, rubbing your head – and then  _you_ started laughing as well.”

“Yeah.” Harry looked sheepish, but he had stopped crying so hard, at least, even though a tear lay sparkling on each cheek like a diamond. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Remember when…you know that time when…” he was trembling too hard to continue. Breathing in sharply several times, he fiercely swiped at his eyes as another tear splashed onto his fingers; he wiped his red eyes hard, trying to knock the moisture away. “I’m sorry,” he said miserably. “I’m sorry…I can’t. It just feels…it feels too much like…”

Neither of them could stand the thought of saying ‘goodbye’; it was too final.

“Don’t,” Louis whispered. “Don’t talk like that. I’ll still see you. I’ll call you whenever I can, and I’ll come and visit you…and I’ll write to you every single day!”

“No,” Harry said heavily. “You won’t. You mean it now – of course you do. But you’ve got a life outside these walls. If I go to Whitehall –  _when_ I go, you’ll keep all of these promises for a few weeks, maybe even months. But you’ll meet someone else, someone on the outside, and you’ll forget all about me.”

Louis slammed a hand down over Harry’s mouth. “Shhhhh!” he said.

“You will,” Harry mumbled desolately against his fingers.

“I could  _never_ forget you!”

“Ten years is a long time, Louis. We could maybe have lasted in here; at least we can talk, we can touch to an extent. But if there’s a glass window between us…” Harry lifted a hand and then paused just a few inches away from Louis’ cheek, as if there was an invisible barrier stopping him from touching him.

Louis leaned forwards, closed the distance between them, and then rested his cheek against the palm of Harry’s hand. They stared at each other for a while, and then Harry’s hand cupped around Louis’ face and Louis closed his eyes and sighed.

“If there’s a glass window between us,” he said in a low voice, “it’s better than not being able to see you at all. Don’t you understand? I could never see your face again and still be as in love with you as I am today, until the day I die.”

They stayed silent for a while, no noises escaping them but tears still falling thickly down their faces. Louis could feel his eyes hurting, his throat ached and his lips trembled from the effort of not sobbing out loud – he could barely imagine how sore Harry’s face was, when he had been crying all night.

“I’d like to give you something,” Louis said finally.

Harry smiled weakly. “That’s sweet of you, but they’ll strip-search me on the way out, and on the way in. I can’t take anything with me.”

Leaning in, Louis touched their foreheads together once again, and dark blue irises met soft green ones. Both of their eyes were watering; Louis’ like oceans, Harry’s like algae-covered ponds in a forest. The intensity of their gazes almost seemed enough to burn through metal if they had intended.

“Not even a memory?” Louis whispered.

They faced each other again, and Louis moved his hands so that he was holding Harry by the waist. His intention must have shown in his face; Harry blinked at him several times, then lowered his head slightly and watched his expression for a few seconds. Louis took several deep, shuddering breaths, trying to calm himself, and he reached up and hastily wiped his own tears away, then tenderly dabbed at Harry’s puffy eyes with his fingertips, trying to stop him from crying. Harry sniffed hard, and for a while they appraised each other in silence.

Louis made the first move. Stretching up slightly on his toes because Harry had the height advantage, he breathed in slightly, and then out. The cool sigh ruffled Harry’s curls, and he laughed faintly as a few stray locks of hair fell over one eye. Carefully brushing them away, Louis ran a finger down his cheek and then continued downwards, sliding his hand down Harry’s collarbone, playing down his chest. He reached Harry’s abdomen and then stopped, putting his hand on Harry’s hip and gently drawing him closer, pulling him in. Harry took a few heavy breaths, and then let their noses brush together for a few seconds, until he slipped his nose to the side so that the tip of it touched Louis’ cheek.

Their lips hovered a few millimeters away from each other for a few seconds, both of them somehow enjoying the aching anticipation, the longing that fluttered in their chests. Harry moved his face the tiniest bit closer, and his mouth moved into a kissing shape, waiting. After a painfully long wait, Louis copied. They only had to lean in.

Harry dipped his head with a low growl and –

“Harry, are you in here?”

Louis yelped and shoved Harry away from him, and just in time: Liam burst into the room, pink in the face and a little breathless, and then rattled a pair of handcuffs at Harry with a sympathetic expression.

“Come on, kid. Time to go.” He paused and blinked at Louis. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Louis said quickly, ignoring the urge to start screaming at Liam for interrupting their first kiss – and their last chance. “Just, uh…gonna miss this idiot, you know what I mean?” He knew he couldn’t look at Harry without either breaking down again, or leaping at him and finishing what had been interrupted.

Liam tutted sympathetically. “Yeah, I know. We all are.” He looked at Harry. “I wish it hadn’t ended this way, Harry. I really thought you were…better.”

A weird choking laugh fell from Harry’s lips. “Better? No. Not me.”

Moving forwards, Liam took Harry’s left wrist and fastened one of the cuffs around it, clicking the other around his own right wrist so that Harry was chained to him. As he did so, he announced, “You’ll be fine, Harry. I know one of the guys at Whitehall. I’ll ask him to keep an eye on you.”

“You don’t have to.”

Liam looked up. “No, I don’t,” he said gently. “But I  _want_ to.”

Harry swallowed thickly and nodded.

Louis took a step forwards and took one last long, aching look, taking in every inch of curls and dimples and bright, tearful eyes. He thought it would kill him not to grab Harry and kiss those tears away, kiss him until their mouths burned and they set each other on fire with the heat of their passion, and the flames ate away at them and they turned into ashes on the carpet.

He reached up and clapped Harry on the shoulder in an acceptably friendly way. “Good luck, Harry.”

There was a pause. Eventually, Harry managed a trembling “Goodbye,” and Liam started to kindly lead him out. Harry took in a huge, deep breath, so deep that Louis was surprised he could hold it in – and then he stood tall and slowly followed the guard out of the room.

At the last possible second, he twisted his head and stared at Louis, and his mouth formed a tiny, fragile little kiss that he blew into the air in the split second before the door closed behind him.

Louis dropped hopelessly to the floor and wrapped his arms around his knees, and he started rocking back and forth in agony, sobbing quietly to himself as he fought the urge to rush after Harry and tear him away from Liam, and wrap himself so tightly around Harry that they became the same person and could never be separated again – and he would never ever let go.


	19. Chapter 19

Sleeping in a chair wasn’t the most comfortable experience.

Louis groaned as he woke up and felt his whole body start aching in protest as he stretched. Sleepily rumpling his hair, he sat up and wrinkled his nose, reaching for his phone to switch off the alarm that had roused him.

He carefully got to his feet, stretching again, and then picked up the white sheet from the floor and draped it over Harry’s chair. At home, he hadn’t been sleeping – it had only been a week since Harry had left, and only a week since they had last seen each other, but it was one week too long. Louis couldn’t seem to force his eyes closed; he could only lie back in bed being drowned in his own misery and playing their last conversation over and over in his mind. No other memories would come, only the feeling of both of their hearts breaking, and the thought of how they had wrenched apart only seconds before their lips could touch. It was too much; he couldn’t seem to close his eyes, and he wasn’t risking taking any unnecessary medicine again. In the end, he’d taken to spending his lunch break napping in Harry’s chair; it smelled like Harry, and it was the only place where he could fallen asleep. On the pretence of wanting a less shabby chair, he’d moved it to the back of the room and draped a sheet over it, replacing it with a far neater one from a furniture store. The thought of anyone else sitting in it and tainting the last of Harry’s smell with their own was horrific. If it stopped smelling like the curly haired boy, his last little piece of Harry would be gone.

He checked his phone, wondering stupidly why he would have set the alarm – and then his heart leapt.

On the screen, in plain black letters, clearly was typed ‘WHITEHALL – VISITING HOUR STARTS IN FIFTY MINUTES.’

Louis didn’t remember ever running so fast in his life. Before he could do any more than snatch his car keys, he was wrenching his office door open, leaving it unlocked and not even stopping to slam it behind him, and then he sprinted for the exit as fast as he could go.

He drove like a madman, and nearly caused several traffic accidents.

By the time he had swerved violently into the car park at Whitehall, he was almost afraid for his own life; he had nearly slammed into a huge lorry on the way in. Still, he was alive – and painfully close to Harry. Smoothing his shirt, which was creased and made it quite obvious that he had slept in it, he ran nervous fingers through his hair to neaten it up a little bit and then headed for the main reception, wondering what it would be like to visit a prison instead of work there. His whole body tingled with anticipation – he couldn’t  _hug_ Harry, but he might be able to touch his hand or brush his fingers against his arm, and that was enough.

Unfortunately, when he was greeted and shown through to the visiting area, Louis gaped in dismay. Harry was already waiting for him, beaming all over his face, which made his chest radiate with a deep and undeniable longing that was enough to move him closer – but he couldn’t help staring in utter disgust at the setup. He wouldn’t be touching Harry anytime soon. That long week ago in his office, he’d assumed that Harry had been making some kind of dark exaggeration when he’d spoken of glass partitions…but sure enough, In front of Louis was a long row of stools, one opposite each prisoner, a desk sat in front of the stool, and then on the far side of the desk sat all the men in their bland prison uniforms; drab and unflattering grey tracksuits with the name of the prison printed on the chest like a school logo. But dead in the middle of the long table that stretched across the room was a huge sheet of thick glass, a window separating the prisoners from the public, and the only way of communicating seemed to be by the telephones placed strategically in front of each seat.

Louis sat down in a rush, and snatched up the phone. Mirroring him, Harry grinned in greeting, and pressed it to his ear with a welcoming look in his eyes.

Louis demanded “What the hell is this?” He tapped the glass with his knuckles in disgust.

Harry smiled wryly. “It looks like a window to me.”

“It’s a massive wall of glass!”

“Congratulations on that amazing observation.”

“Why on earth is  _that_ in the way?” Louis ranted furiously.

Those gorgeous green eyes rolled as Harry shook his head fondly, a smile playing on his mouth at Louis’ naivety. “We’re all murderers, homicidal lunatics and sociopaths in here, remember? What did you expect, a pretty little picnic on the lawn?”

Sticking out his tongue, Louis continued despairingly “How can we do  _anything_  with a bloody  _glass_ w _all_ between us?”

“I told you there would be,” Harry pointed out.

“I hoped you were exaggerating.”

Harry snorted. “Yeah, right. I wish.” He sighed heavily. “Well…you’re here, at least. We can still see each other. We can still talk.”

“We can still  _touch_ , to an extent.” Louis reached up and carefully traced the outline of Harry’s face on the glass with the tip of one finger. From where he was sitting, it looked like he was really touching Harry’s cheek with a trembling hand.

“So we can,” Harry agreed.

“How are you?” Louis asked, still gently stroking the glass as he spoke, as if he could truly touch Harry if he tried hard enough. “How’ve you been coping? Made any mates?”

A shrug was Harry’s answer; it was inadequate, and Louis frowned until Harry admitted “Not yet. People aren’t as friendly in this place as they were in Stonehaven. I’ve spoken to a couple of people; we’ve just reached the stage of nodding at each other when we pass in the hallways, which is a start, I suppose.”

Louis looked dissatisfied.

“Look, I’ll get to know people soon enough,” Harry reassured him. “I’d been at Stonehaven for a good three weeks before I got to be friends with Zayn and Niall.”

“Yeah…” Louis sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily. “I hope so.”

“God, you look exhausted. You’ve not been sleeping, have you?” accused Harry.

“I have! I only just woke up, actually.”

“Catnaps in your office don’t count. When was the last time you got a proper night’s sleep  _in a bed_?”

“…The night before you left,” Louis muttered unwillingly.

“ _Louis_!”

“What? It’s not my fault I can’t sleep.”

“Clearly it is. If you can sleep in your office, you can sleep at home.”

“I  _can’t_ ,” Louis insisted.

Harry looked at him sternly. “Why not?”

Turning red with embarrassment, Louis confessed “I’ve been sleeping in your chair. It helps me to feel close to you…don’t laugh. It smells like you. It’s the only way I can get any sleep.”

He’d been afraid Harry would laugh, but it seemed more likely that he would  _cry_ ; his bottom lip was shaking and he was staring at Louis with moisture shining in his eyes.

“Don’t!” Louis pleaded, pressing the palm of his hand to the glass. “Please don’t cry, Harry.”

“Who’s crying?” Harry mumbled, mopping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Not me.” He copied Louis exactly, touching his own hand to his side of the glass in exactly the same place, so that it looked like their fingers were touching. If the glass had been taken away, their hands would have been pressed together.

“I don’t want you to be upset.”

Harry sighed heavily. “I just…don’t like it that you’ve been losing sleep over me.” He pulled a face. “I tell you what – I’ve got a beanie in my cell somewhere; I used to sleep in it. I’ll get them to give it to you, okay? Then you’ll have something that smells like me that doesn’t live in your office. Do you think you’d be able to sleep better with that?”

Hope sparked in Louis’ eyes. “Will they let you hand it over? I mean…won’t they think you’re trying to smuggle something out in it? Like…drugs, or something?”

Harry snorted. “Not even a master criminal could hide drugs in a beanie.”

“True,” Louis conceded.

They watched each other for a while.

“Apart from not sleeping, how’ve you been?” Harry asked after a minute or so, sliding his hand off the glass. “I hope that twat Adam hasn’t been giving you any more trouble.”

“Thankfully not. They had him relocated. Apparently he was ‘too much of a handful’. I think that was Liam’s way of saying that he was totally obnoxious and everyone hated him. If I’m honest, that might have been a bit of revenge for Adam getting you chucked out – I helped with it, of course. Recommended that they sent him somewhere else; for ‘ _stability’_.” Louis rolled his eyes and reluctantly let his hand fall from the glass and onto the table. “I couldn’t stand looking at him anymore, so it was any old excuse, really.”

“Good. I was considering hiring a hit-man to do away with him. I’m sure this lot would know  the right people.” Harry grinned to show that he was joking.

“Don’t tempt me,” Louis said darkly.

“Oooh, grumpy,” teased Harry. He pushed a few curls out of his eyes. “Come on, then, who’s missed me? Apart from you, obviously.”

“Niall’s been a bit droopy since you left,” Louis mused, counting people off on his fingers. “Zayn’s been quieter than usual, but you know Zayn; that could be anything. I think he does miss you, though. Liam’s been in a bit of an odd mood as well; one minute he’ll be cheerful and the next minute he’s sulking.”

Harry scowled and started tapping his fingers on the desk. “Don’t even mention that guy.”

“What, Liam?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, come on, Harry, it’s not Liam’s fault you’re in here; when he took you to the governor, he never meant things to end like this. Besides, if he hadn’t taken you, someone else –”

Cutting him off mid-sentence, Harry interrupted, “it isn’t  _that_.”

“What, then?”

Harry coughed, embarrassed. “He interrupted several… _things_ …that I would have quite liked to have got done before I left.”

“Oh!” Louis blushed. “Well, yes, I suppose he did.” He paused. “Although in a way, I’m almost glad that he did.”

This statement earned him a very weird look from Harry.

“Think about it. If we had done…what we intended to do –” with a quick glance around to make sure that no one was eavesdropping “ – could we have stopped? I know I would have struggled to let go of you after that. Besides, we’d be haunted by it; we’d remember it, and know how amazing it was and yet be unable to do it again. Wouldn’t it drive you mad?”

“Well…maybe,” Harry grudgingly admitted. “But somehow I think I’d rather have taken the insanity and had my kiss.”

“You  _would_ ,” Louis laughed, “you’re a horny teenager. You’d have had your wicked way with me over my desk if you could.”

Harry wiggled his eyebrows. “Oh, you know me so well.” His grin faded after a few seconds as he looked quietly at Louis. “I think I’d rather have had the experience. I might never have a chance, now. You might get sick of me.”

“I’ll never get sick of you,” Louis promised. “I’m your idiot, remember?”

A huge smile spread across Harry’s face. “Indeed you are. My idiot…” he trailed off wistfully.

They fell silent. Louis wanted to keep talking about nothing – and everything – so that he could fill his head with Harry’s nonsense and play it over and over in his mind; he knew he would regret all the things he hadn’t said, and they would bother him endlessly until the next time he came visiting. But somehow, they didn’t need to fill the emptiness with words: it was enough just to look, to watch, to memorize each other’s faces all over again as if they had forgotten a single detail. Louis was content after a while just to let his eyes play over every inch of Harry’s face – and every visible part of his body, from his chest to his arms, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

All of a sudden, a horrible nasal buzzing sounded overhead, and Harry swore and groaned, rubbing his forehead with the fingers of his free hand.

“Time’s up,” he murmured into the phone.

“No,” Louis said, leaning forwards with a low moan and touching his forehead to the glass. Too soon…too soon…

Harry mirrored him, pressing his own face to where Louis’ was, only the sheet of glass stopping them from touching. “You can come again…and I’ll call you.”

“You don’t know my number.”

“Then tell me – quickly!”

Louis rattled it off, and Harry parroted it obediently back to him, repeating it several times so that they could both be certain that he had it memorized. Then, Harry reluctantly got out of his seat and wandered away before Louis could remind him about the hat that he had promised to give to him.

Unable to drag himself out of his chair, Louis waited helplessly for a good ten minutes for Harry to return, until eventually he had to get up. Miserably shuffling towards the door, he was about to leave when a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Hang on a second. Louis Tomlinson?”

He turned to the skinny, unpleasant-looking man with the twig-like limbs who had a grip on his arm. “Yes?”

“This is for you. From the kid with the curly hair.” The man shoved something grey and shapeless into Louis’ hands; something woolen and soft.

His breath caught in his throat as he looked down, and found himself clutching a beanie with both hands; a stretched, well-worn item of clothing that had clearly spent a lot of time on Harry’s head, jammed over his curls. Twisting the material in his fingers, he resisted the urge to bury his face in it and inhale the smell that he knew was waiting for him – and he tried not to let it look like a cuddle blanket, which, really, was exactly the right term for it; he would most definitely be sleeping with it that night.

Cradling the hat against his chest like it was some kind of precious treasure, Louis said softly, “Thank him for me, would you?”

The guard shrugged. “Not really in my job description, but I’ll try to pass on the message.” Turning around, he went to head off back into the main prison.

“Wait!” Louis grabbed him.

Frowning, the man paused.

It took Louis a few seconds to force the words past his embarrassment, but eventually, pink in the face at having to relay his message through a prison guard he didn’t know, he managed “Could you… could you tell him I love him?”

The man tutted. “What do you think I am, a messenger pigeon?” But he couldn’t stop a huge, soppy smile from filling his face; smiling, he looked quite kind, and Louis wondered if he had misjudged the man. “I’ll see what I can do,” he promised, squeezing Louis’ shoulder in a friendly manner. Then, he released Louis and disappeared through the door.

Louis wished desperately that he could follow, that he could find Harry where he mingled with the unfriendly faces and criminals so much more vicious than he, who didn’t speak to him – and he wished he could grab Harry’s face, crash their lips together and tell him for himself, instead of having to ask somebody else to do it for him, which, if he was honest, was kind of humiliating. He could have slapped himself for not saying it when he’d had the chance.

Pressing his nose into the fabric of Harry’s hat, he breathed in the soft, comforting smell, and a wave of exhaustion came rolling over him in an instant. Suddenly tired, he realized he could sleep for a week. Smiling faintly, he rubbed it against his face with a long sigh.

_I love you, Harry._


	20. Chapter 20

Harry lay back on his bed with a heavy sigh, pushing his hair back as he started at the ceiling. He was worrying about so many things that he thought he might start yelling at random people who walked past him in the corridor. Still…seeing Louis had made things better, if only for little while – even though the visit had given him a whole list of other things to worry about. **  
**

Louis, not sleeping. That annoyed Harry; he wanted to force Louis to lie down and watch him sleep until Harry could be sure that he’d got the best night’s sleep he’d ever had. He was confident that Louis would _try_ to keep his promise, but whether or not he would succeed was an entirely different matter. Without Harry to smooth his hair and murmur to him until he fell asleep, he might give up on rest – and if he was going to be driving out to Whitehall on a regular basis, Harry didn’t want him falling asleep at the wheel and crashing, or losing his job because he couldn’t stay awake for long enough to listen to people complaining.

He was anxious about himself, too. Not because he hadn’t been sleeping; it was all he seemed to do these days, losing himself in dreams to while away the hours, seeing as he had nobody to talk to and being trapped with only his own thoughts for company was a nightmare. But he had other concerns, which he couldn’t exactly bring up. Louis had no idea of what Harry was planning; if he had, he would have panicked and begged him not to do it. But truthfully, Harry didn’t care what Louis thought, because they would both be thankful for his actions in the end. If it got him out sooner, he would do it, no matter who turned against him. He knew he would prefer five years of torment and then falling into Louis’ arms, instead of ten years of peace and quiet which was twice as long without touching Louis, twice as long for Louis to get tired of waiting for him. So far, he’d made no friends at all, but he was working on that.

Of course, another issue was that Louis hadn’t seemed to understand how many homophobes there were in Whitehall. By making it blindingly obvious that he and Harry were together, he’d put Harry in a very uncomfortable position without intending to, and Harry had a choice to make: deny everything and be scorned and hated by everyone, including himself, knowing he was ashamed of Louis, or at least that he was pretending to be…or freely admit that he was gay, and risk getting his head punched in every day for the next ten years by a crowd of gay-bashers. He could deal with one assailant fairly easily, perhaps two at a stretch. But fifty? Not a chance.

It had almost come to the point where he’d been tempted to say “could you… _not_  do that?” and ask Louis to back off with the PDAs a bit – but he hadn’t had the heart to reject him, and he was pretty sure he’d prefer that Louis stayed almost painfully desperate for him than that he got bored of waiting. Still, Harry felt uncomfortable about the whole situation.

Another thing that was making him uneasy was his mum; he’d hurt her feelings by saying that he needed to see somebody else during his weekly allocated visiting slot, but how could he have turned Louis away? Even if he could have contacted him, he wasn’t sure he would have. If he was going to see Louis once a week, then once a week it would be, and although he felt a twinge of regret for knowing that he would choose to have Louis visit him instead of his own mother, it wasn’t enough to change his mind.

Harry rubbed his eyes wearily and sighed. So many things to worry about…he pitied Louis for having so much on his plate and having places he needed to be, as well. If it was this hard having the stress heaped on your shoulders when the only place you had to be was a cell, how must it feel to have a life as well?

 


	21. Chapter 21

The answer to Harry’s question, had Louis been able to hear it, would have been  _‘impossible’_. He was barely functioning any more, struggling to concentrate on anything. Stan, Hannah, his mum and various other friends and acquaintances tried in vain to drag him out of the fog that he seemed to be caught in, recommending various things that they thought would help. Louis snorted and ignored all of their suggestions – unless they were going to break Harry out of Whitehall, nothing they could offer would be of any use.

About three days after his visit to Harry’s new home, he woke awake with a panicked gasp and started flailing around in his bed, realizing with a horrible sick feeling in his stomach that he’d lost the beanie that was pretty much his nightlight these days; he hung onto it like a child’s cuddle blanket, carrying it around with him day after day and hiding it in his filing cabinet at work so it wouldn’t lose the comforting cinnamon smell of Harry’s hair. Luckily for him, it seemed like Harry had practically  _lived_ in it; his essence oozed from the fabric in every direction and the chance of the scent even  _fading_ seemed very unlikely.

Louis spent another few frantic seconds searching, until he spotted a grey shape on the floor and snatched it up, pressing it against his nose and breathing in until his nose was filled with Harry, and he could almost taste him from the musky smell of the hat. Flopping back against his bed with a sigh of disgust, he raked a hand through his hair and sighed heavily.

He wasn’t coping, he really wasn’t. Even with the hat that he carted around like a talisman, and the constant phone calls between the two of them, he wasn’t coping at all.

It had become bad enough that Jay had forced him to the doctors surgery and tried to coerce the mumbling, balding doctor they had met into giving Louis antidepressants. That idea had made Louis roll his eyes; yes, he was depressed, but why shouldn’t he be? Didn’t misery come as a side-effect of unrequited love? His attempts at persuading the man that he didn’t need drugs was not as effective as his mum’s borderline threats, and in the end, Jay had triumphed, getting him a huge jar of prescription drugs. Paranoid that he might attempt an overdose, every day she watched him swallow a single pill – or so she thought. He hid each one under his tongue and spat it into his hand when she turned her back, flushing it down the toilet or washing it down the sink, because he didn’t want to cloud his mind with drugs. Likewise, he refused to take compassionate leave; he needed to keep busy, or he would go insane. Her concerns irritated and amused him in equal measure, because he had no intention of killing himself, or even trying, and although he found the idea strangely funny, he was annoyed that she hung around him all the time. Why would he commit suicide, for God’s sake? Who would tell Harry? Nobody knew about them, and he wouldn’t leave Harry alone, thinking that he’d been forgotten.

So Louis struggled through life, although really it was simply an existence. He only came alive when he was with Harry, or occasionally when he was arguing with people, and his anger rose him from the numb state of mind he seemed constantly trapped in. How had all the medical experts decided that he needed drugs to keep him from thinking? The problem was that he  _couldn’t_ think, he couldn’t focus, and he wasn’t shoving any sugar-coated pills into his mouth that would either make the situation worse, or fill his head with fake, plastic thoughts that other people thought he was supposed to be having. Louis had never approved of drugs that interfered with your brain; his mind was his own, and nobody else had the right to mess with it, from his point of view.

With the hat over his face, he drifted back to sleep, and awoke at some time in the afternoon feeling like he hadn’t had a wink of sleep all night.

The phone was ringing, and he answered it snappishly, in a foul mood already. He yanked the phone to his ear with a scowl.

“ _What_?”

“Good afternoon, sir, we were wondering if we could interest you in increasing your BT Broadband package to unlimited. There are many excellent benefits with this latest upgrade that you might be interested to –”

Louis cut the telemarketer off with a stream of abuse, yelling every profanity he could think of down the phone, and a good few more than just came to him with an inspiration that made him proud. He heard the crackle of feedback that came with his shouts and had to hold the phone away from his ear slightly to stop the piercing whine from ringing in his ears.

“Whoa, Louis, calm down!” Harry said in alarm. “It’s me! I was only joking!”

Stopping dead, Louis took several very deep breaths and rubbed his forehead in exhaustion. “Sorry, sorry,” he sighed, “it’s been a long night.”

“Yeah, I can tell. Are you usually that rude to telemarketers?”

“Occasionally. It depends on what they’re trying to sell me.”

“What, aren’t you interested in trying to upgrade your internet package?” Harry asked innocently.

“I might have been a little more tolerant if you’d pretended to be the right service provider. I’m not _with_ BT. And I have unlimited already.”

“Those people are only doing their job; you could be a little less abusive.”

“They prefer it when I yell at them, I think. Sometimes I try to see how long I can talk to them before  _they_ hang up on  _me_. It’s hilarious.”

“You get telemarketers to hang up on you?”

“Indeed I do. It’s an acquired skill, but well worth it. The trick is to confuse them so much that their annoying repertoire of things to say doesn’t cover your response. Sometimes I pretend to work for their company, or say that I’ll report them to Trading Standards for something or other. Other times I just pretend to be a lonely loser and try to have a conversation with them. It completely blows their boring little minds,” Louis said happily.

“Oh, you  _are_ in a nice mood today.”

“Yeah, well. I’m tired, even though I just slept solidly for twelve hours. And I’m hungry, but there’s no food, because I forgot to go shopping yesterday. And I miss you.”

“Great, I’m at the bottom of the list; that makes me feel  _so_  loved. Nice to see you’ve got your priorities sorted,” Harry teased, but he sounded slightly hurt.

“If I had been listing my priorities in chronological order, you would have been first,” Louis promised, and he ran his hands through his hair again. He yawned. “How can I still be tired when I slept for so long?”

“Who knows,” Harry said lightly. “How can you still be missing me when it’s been nearly a fortnight, and I was expecting you to be getting fed up of me now?”

“Your faith in me is inspiring, do you know that?”

“Yeah, all right. I guess I should give you more credit. I just don’t understand why you still care about me so much – after everything.”

“Because, um, let me see…you have great hair? Nope, that’s not it…do you know, I think it  _might_ be because I love you.”

He almost  _heard_ Harry’s smile on the other end. “Thanks, I  _do_ have great hair. And it’s nice to know that you still love me. Even though I’m about to ask you for a favour…”

Louis already knew. “You need someone else to visit this weekend, right?”

“My mum hasn’t seen me for more than a month…I don’t want to upset her…”

“Of course. Your mum is more important than me.”

“Oh, Louis. Thank –”

The prison phone, automatically set on a timer, cut them off. Burying his face in his hands, Louis groaned softly to himself. Another fortnight to wait. He could do it – but he wouldn’t do it  _happily_.


	22. Chapter 22

“…

“…And I really miss him, you know? I didn’t even know the guy that well, but I kind of got used to him…we were getting to be great mates. It was kind of –” Niall frowned. “Man, are you even listening?”

Louis, who had been giving agitated glances at his watch and bouncing up and down for the past ten minutes, looked up.

“Hmmm?”

“I was saying, I really miss him.”

“Oh, yes, of course. …Who were we talking about again?”

Niall sighed. “ _Harry_. Jesus, Louis, where’s your head today?”

“Sorry,” Louis quickly apologized, “carry on.”

Mollified, Niall continued, “He was a good guy, you know? Despite what he did. Funny, and pretty smart, too. Not bad looking, either, you know what I’m saying?”

“Mmm? Harry? Mm, yes, he was,” Louis agreed distractedly, checking his watch again.

Niall’s patience left him. “Do you have somewhere to be? Because you haven’t listened to a word I’ve said in the last half hour.”

“Yes! No! I mean, uh…well, I was going to see Harry, actually,” Louis admitted.

With a happy grin, Niall said “Hey, that’s great! Say hello to him for me, will you?”

“Of course I will. Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but I really don’t want  to be late –”

“Sure, man, go for it! You go,” Niall encouraged. “I’ll be fine.”

“You really don’t mind?” Louis asked, already rummaging for his car keys.

“Like it would make a difference if I did,” pointed out an amused Niall, “you’re already halfway out the door. Go on, you go and see him. Don’t forget to tell him I said hi!”

“I won’t!” Louis yelled as he ran out of the door, arms filled with stuff, almost tripping over the rug on the way out.

Shaking his head fondly, Niall got up and stretched. It was a good thing Louis was the psychiatrist and not him; he had no idea what was going on inside that guy’s head. He was about to saunter out and join the rest of the prisoners for lunch when the shapeless mound underneath the big white sheet sparked his interest. Naturally a curious person, Niall couldn’t resist having a quick peek. Glancing around, he walked across the room and tweaked the corner of the sheet upwards. Of course, he found the shabby old chair hidden underneath the white cover that looked almost like a shroud – like Louis had buried something, like he thought of it as dead.

Pulling his face at the weird thought, Niall let the sheet drop back over the old furniture. He had been spending  _way_ too much time with Louis; he was overanalyzing everything. Why would Louis be keeping an old chair for sentimental reasons? More importantly, why would he be subconsciously likening it to a dead body? Deciding there was something creepy going on inside his head if he was making analogies for old chairs, he shook himself to get the idea firmly out of his head. It was ridiculous! For God’s sake, Louis probably just hadn’t had time to cart the chair out and had covered it up because it was quite frankly the most hideous chair Niall had ever seen in living memory. Snorting to himself, he wandered towards the door and turned off the light, leaving  the chair to its own devices in the corner of the room.

_‘Like he thought of it as dead’? Niall, buddy, you’ve finally lost it. Don’t tell the guy, or he’ll probably lock you up in a straight jacket._

Then, Niall smelled the scent of sponge pudding wafting through the air, and he made a bolt for the kitchen, Louis and the musty chair mystery completely forgotten.

 *  *  *  *  *  *

Louis gave a cry of shock when he saw Harry’s face for the first time. He instinctively reached out to caress his lover’s battered cheek, and his fingers bumped against cool, unyielding glass. With a groan, he thumped the window and banged his head softly against it in frustration.

“Don’t,” Harry pleaded.

“What the hell happened?”

“I tripped. Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t try and sell me that crap. You don’t get bruises like that from a fall.”

“I fell in the shower.”

“Your  _face_ is  _purple_ ,” Louis hissed.

“I fell  _on my face_ in the shower.”

“Rubbish!” Louis swore and violently massaged his forehead with his knuckles.

Harry’s entire face was a bruised mess. His forehead was a mixture of purple and mustard yellow, where healing bruises and fresh ones were blurring together. The bright green iris of his left eye was barely visible; one eye was practically swollen shut, and he had a horrible black eye on the other, although miraculously he could see out of that one. There was dry blood on his nose, which looked red raw, and a huge, bloody half-healed scab on his right cheek that looked like it was close to needing stitches. His mouth was puffy and bruised, so inflamed that Louis was amazed he could still speak – although admittedly, he  _was_ mumbling. The discoloration on his forehead continued down both cheeks and ended somewhere around his collarbone, although his neck also had several nasty, angry red welts, and there were long, deep scratches down the side of his face. One awful blemish stretched from his temple to his chin, a long, slender mark that was the colour of salmon, shiny and unhealthily pink. It looked like someone had taken a pineapple, blackberries and strawberries, liquidized them, and painted them all over Harry’s face – except the horrible combination of mottled, unnatural colours were Harry’s  _skin_ , and that made Louis so angry that he wanted to start ripping things apart – preferably limbs. Preferably the limbs of whoever was responsible for making such a mess of Harry’s face.

Perhaps the most painful part was that, past the bruises, Harry was still beautiful, and Louis wanted to kiss him so desperately that it hurt.

“Tell me the truth.”

“I tripped.”

“Tell me the truth!”

“I tripped,” Harry repeated insistently.

“Tell. Me. The. Truth!”

“I  _tripped_!” Harry said obstinately.

Louis pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Harry, if you don’t tell me what happened to your _bloody_ face  _right now_ , I swear I’ll –”

“Louis!”

The pleading tone of Harry’s voice stopped Louis in his tracks.

“ _Please_ ,” Harry said softly. “Just…just leave it.”

“How?  _How_ can I leave it?” Louis cried. “ _Look_ at you!” He gestured helplessly at the awful state of Harry’s face.

“Trust me – if I tell you, it’ll only get worse.”

Louis paused as the words sank in.

“Harry, why did this happen?”

“Because I tripped.”

“Why did it  _really_ happen?”

“Because I’m clumsy.”

“What are you so scared of?” Louis demanded.

Harry fell sullenly silent.

They both waited.

“Oh my God, who did this to you?” Louis breathed in horror.

“No one,” Harry said quickly.

“Harry, who hit you?”

“I tripped!”

“ _Harry_!”

Louis was ready to punch his way through the glass and shake Harry by the scruff of the neck until he told the truth – but then he saw Harry frantically mouthing  _“They can hear everything I say!”_ and comprehension dawned.

“Just say yes or no,” Louis said carefully. He lowered his voice until it was so quiet that even  _he_  could barely hear it. “Did you  _really_ fall in the shower?”

Harry hesitated, obviously afraid.

“Nobody can hear me,” Louis promised. “You really think I’d risk letting this happen again by someone hearing me? Tell me, please. Did you really fall in the shower?”

After a long pause, Harry slowly shook his head.

Louis had to take a very deep breath. “Did…did someone…hurt you?”

Another long wait.

Rephrasing the question, Louis said gently “Did somebody hit you, Harry?”

“Yes,” Harry whispered.

Louis closed his eyes, feeling his fingers flex against the plastic of the phone as he struggled not to smash the glass with it, snatch Harry, carry him away in his arms and then hide him somewhere, stay with him and kiss every single mark better, and keep kissing for as long as it took to heal them all.

“Who?”

He watched Harry swallow and instantly knew that there was no way Harry could – or would – answer that question.

“Why did they do it?”

“I can’t,” Harry whispered.

“Please, Harry, just tell me.”

“I can’t.”

“Is it because of us? Because of  _me_?”

Harry gripped the phone on his side of the partition and squeezed his eyes shut. A tear leaked from underneath the eyelashes of each eye and trickled languidly down his battered face, and he took a deep, harsh breath.

“I  _can’t_.”

Louis groaned and slammed his head against the glass, hard enough to send himself dizzy.

“Stop it!” Harry begged.

“Then let me  _help_ you! Let me do something!”

“You can’t do anything,” Harry said bitterly.

“I want to protect you,” Louis whispered helplessly.

“Trust me, Louis – if you want to protect me, then the best thing to do would be to change the subject. _Now_.”

It took a horrific amount of effort, but with a long, shuddering sigh, Louis wrenched the conversation into a different direction.

“It’s been almost a month, now, and I never get used to the idea that you’re here,” he said softly. “I keep thinking you’re still in Stonehaven. I get to work, and the first thing I  look for every morning is your face…and then I remember that you’re not there anymore.”

“Well,” Harry said sourly, “I have to say that I preferred it there. Better health and safety – you were far less likely to slip in the shower back there.” He gave a sharp, humourless laugh, and it made Louis’ chest constrict.

“I love you,” he said softly, meeting Harry’s unfaltering gaze through the glass. “Remember that. I know you’re hurt, and I understand that you can’t tell me how or why – but just remember, no matter how badly they beat you, no matter what happens, I’ll always be here. I’ll always be ready to hold your hand. When you need me most, Harry…that’s when I’ll be there.”

Harry took a shaking breath, and then he said the words they both needed to hear.

“I love you, too.”


	23. Chapter 23

In hindsight, however much the two of them might have needed to hear Harry say those words, it might have been better to keep them to himself. It had never occurred to Louis that a place like Whitehall would be home to hundreds of men who were just as vile, vicious and opinionated as Adam had been – but ten times as dangerous.

 As Louis looked down at the mop of curls on the pillow and listened to the slow, steady beep of the heart monitor, he couldn’t help but hold Harry’s fragile wrist so that he could feel for himself that Harry’s heart was still beating, fluttering like a bird against his fingertips. That, and the rise and fall of his chest, gave Louis hope, and he watched in silence as Harry breathed in and out, still stunned by his face. If he’d been horrified before, there wasn’t a word for what he was feeling right then.

Harry’s face was no longer pulverized fruit – it was  _rotting_ pulverized fruit, but torn and bleeding, and with stitches running through it. Louis felt sick at the thought. The doctors had sewn what was left of Harry’s bloody face back together, covering the threads with stark white bandages, and now there was only the terrible colours: purple, red, yellow, black and blue, with the only hint of peachy skin being the odd patch of undamaged flesh on Harry’s stomach, and his arms, which miraculously had escaped most of the beating.

As he stood by Harry’s side, Louis stroked down the skin of Harry’s right arm with his free hand, murmuring nonsense to console them both. Whether Harry could hear him or not was a mystery, but his lips kept moving anyway, mumbling words that weren’t words, or half-formed sentences that he forgot to finish or started in the middle of another one. He kept reliving the awful moment over and over in his mind: that terrible phone call, the feeling of the whole world stopping while the voice at the end of the phone gabbled mindlessly on at breakneck speed until he couldn’t keep up and ended up breaking down in tears, biting his tongue so hard that he tasted coppery blood in his mouth every time he swallowed.

_“Hello?”_

_“Hello, is that Mr. Louis Tomlinson?”_

_“Speaking.”_

_“This is Whitehall Prison, Cell Block F, Alan Cartwright here.”_

_“Um…okay?”_

_“I’m sorry to disturb you at this late hour, Mr. Tomlinson, but we have to speak to you urgently.”_

_“I’m listening.”_

_“It’s about Harry Styles…”_

_“Harry?” Louis asked sharply. “What’s wrong with him?”_

_The bland, reassuring ‘nothing’ he expected to hear didn’t come; in fact, the complete opposite. “He’s been hospitalized. Again. He’s named you as his next of kin.”_

_Words flying around his brain, Louis snatched at the first coherent thought that came to him and blurted it out instantly. “What about his mum?”_

_“It’s your name he gave us. He’s eighteen; it’s his decision to make. You’re his next of kin.”_

_“I don’t understand, what happened? Was it self-inflicted?”_

_“We have reason to believe he was attacked.”_

_“What? Attacked? Why? By who?” Louis was growing closer to hysteria every second._

_“It would really be easier if we continued this conversation at the hospital, Mr. Tomlinson. Besides, you really must get down here. The boy’s in a bad way. He needs you.”_

He had come, of course. How could he not? And now he was stood helplessly clinging to Harry’s lifeless fingers and feeling every gentle thud of his heart, as if both of their lives depended on it. He had promised, after all. He had sworn to hold Harry’s hand, to be there when he was most needed, and he would  _never_ break that promise.

Still, he hadn’t expected to have to put that to the test quite so soon after he’d said it.

Something strange happened to time: hours seemed to pass him by in a single steady beat of Harry’s heart, and yet seconds seemed to last for years. He lost track of everything; nothing had any meaning for him anymore – except, of course, for Harry, who occasionally twitched or murmured in his induced sleep, drugs and sleeping solutions and painkillers leaking into him through ten different needles and circulating around his body even as Louis brokenly watched, powerless to do anything else. The helplessness was what he hated most; wanting to help, but not knowing how.

On the first day, Louis stood by Harry’s bed until every inch of him went numb, and yet he still watched and waited and kept on his feet until one of the nurses bodily forced him to sit in a cold plastic chair. He stayed stiffly upright until he collapsed into unconsciousness and face-planted Harry’s bed, waking up with aching muscles and a horrible headache.

On the second day, Louis sat at Harry’s side in silence until one of the nurses came to offer him a drink, which he coldly refused. The thought of fluids sent him sprinting to the bathroom, after which he determinedly realized that in order to have no excuse to leave Harry on his own, his food and drink intake would have to be minimal, if anything.

On the third day, Louis slept all day in his chair, apart from when his pangs of hunger disturbed him. He never let Harry’s hand go for an instant, even when the nurses came to inject more drugs into Harry’s tubes; they had to work around him as if he were a permanent fixture – a statue rather than a real man, frozen in place.

On the fourth day, Louis overheard the nurses saying that Harry was doing well enough to be taken off the drugs. They cheerfully patted Louis on the back and promised him that Harry would be right as rain, and then wandered off to their gossiping and women’s magazines. Louis hated them for their positivity and for not sitting with him by Harry’s side for every second of every day in case Harry needed medical assistance, but at the same time he was glad to be rid of them, because forcing himself to make conversation was not something he needed at that precise second.

On the fifth day, Louis passed out because he hadn’t eaten or drunk anything for forty-eight hours. The doctors and nurses fussed irritatingly over him and forced this, that and the other into his hands and down his throat. He ate it so that they would leave him alone, but never let go of Harry’s fingers. He wasn’t sure he could; his hand felt frozen in place.

On the sixth day, Louis noticed the nurses whispering and discovered that they were anxious that Harry still hadn’t awoken. When he challenged them, they spun him some pretty story about Harry’s body needing time to recover, when it was clear that they too were finally becoming worried about the boy, even though they were nowhere near as terrified as Louis was.

On the seventh day, Louis left his chair and fell asleep on Harry’s bed, curled up against him with an arm around his shoulders, still clinging to his hand. He breathed in Harry’s smell, tainted as it was by drugs and antiseptic and the sour smell of medicine, and he slept properly for the first time in a week.

On the eighth day, Harry woke up.

It was completely unexpected, and no one was more surprised than Louis. He lifted his head off Harry’s shoulder for just a second, and then Harry’s head turned towards him and he blinked those beautiful green eyes that Louis had been afraid he would never seen again, the shadows of the bruises finally fading from his face, and Louis had stared at him as if he had risen from the dead. That was the first day when Louis remembered how to feel instead of just that awful blank numbness that had haunted him for so long. That was the day when he kissed Harry’s collarbones with trembling lips and swore at Harry, calling him every name under the sun with such love and fierce tenderness in his voice that the profanities sounded like endearments, and though they burned everyone’s ears, people turned away to allow the two of them privacy, and not from disgust at Louis’ language. That was the day when Louis was so relieved that he cried, and Harry held him and he cried a little bit as well, although he couldn’t explain why.

“I hate you,” Louis sobbed. “I hate you so much, you  _idiot_!”

“I love you too,” Harry whispered, and he clung to Louis, because of course, that was what needed to be done.

Their first kiss was quite possibly the messiest, most disgusting kiss the world had ever seen. It was sloppy, it was filled with tears and saliva and god knows what else, and it ended up as a messy tangle of lips and tongues as their mouths clashed together and they explored not only each other’s mouths, but their entire faces; hands wandered up and down, lips teased and then burned with a desperate passion that should have set the two of them on fire, and there were tears everywhere, so that Louis couldn’t tell who had cried more on Harry’s face; Harry, or him. They would remember that kiss forever, because it was not the kind of experience you could forget in a hurry. Harry turned into a vacuum cleaner, and Louis started laughing into his mouth because it tickled to have someone seemingly trying to suck his lips off.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, giggling.

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted, and he laughed shakily. “Kissing you?”

“You’re  _slurping_ on me,” Louis forced out past his giggles. “Like I’m an ice cream!”

“Well, I suppose my superior kissing technique must be lost on you,” Harry said, trying to sound injured, but he couldn’t help but grin.

“Have you ever kissed anyone before?” Louis asked amusedly.

“Of course I have! It’s just…been a while.”

That made them both laugh again, just at the sheer ridiculousness of it, and because they were talking around each other’s mouths, and that was just  _weird_. How was it even  _possible_? Louis didn’t know – and more importantly, he didn’t  _care_.

“I have an idea,” he said, gently disentangling his lips from Harry’s and carefully releasing the two handfuls of curly hair he’d been gripping. “How about we wipe our messy faces, and try that again?”

“Sounds like a plan,” agreed Harry.

For a few seconds, they awkwardly mopped at their streaming eyes, running noses and swollen lips, and Louis tenderly wiped Harry’s mouth for him with his sleeve. When that was over with, they looked at each other for a while.

“Was that our first kiss?” Harry asked

Louis smiled. “Somehow I don’t think I’m going to count that one. It was a bit too  _wet_.”

They started giggling again at how wrong that sounded.

“How about we forget that ever happened?” Louis suggested, “and try again?”

Harry never verbally acknowledged him – but as he grabbed Louis’ face in both hands and dragged their mouths together, Louis took that as a yes.

It was far sweeter than Louis had expected from Harry’s fierce approach; when their lips finally bumped softly together, it was gentle and careful, a far more reserved movement, and Louis remembered Harry’s sore face as he let his mouth move against Harry’s, softly nibbling his lower lip. It took a few more tentative seconds before he dared to touch Harry’s hair, but seconds later his fingers were tangled in it as he lightly teased a reaction out of the boy’s mouth. They started off reserved, Louis terrified of hurting Harry while Harry was cautious about their second kiss being as untidy as their first, but eventually something took over, numbing Louis’ anxiety and Harry’s awkwardness until they lost themselves in the kiss. It became more natural in the process of a few seconds; Harry’s arms had been hanging loosely at his sides, but his hands found Louis’ waist and although he held him gently at first, his grip tightened until he was clinging on for dear life. Louis found the courage to move his mouth a little more, and to touch his tongue to Harry’s until it became more of a conversation than a kiss, with everything they had ever wanted to say pouring into that one small movement of their mouths, and no sounds coming out. Neither of them wanted to end it, but eventually the kiss dwindled to its unfortunately inevitable demise, and eventually, with the lightest of brushes of his lips against the corner of Harry’s mouth, Louis let his face drift away from Harry’s and looked at him for a while with a proud, happy and relieved smile lighting up his face as they watched each other, breathing heavily like they had just run a race, and staring at each other like they could never look for long enough – which they couldn’t.

“There,” Louis said softly. “ _That w_ as our first kiss.”


	24. Chapter 24

Thankfully, after that, things started amazingly going back to the way they had been – except, of course, Harry and Louis were closer than they ever had been before. Louis went back to work, and was distracted for another week or so, leaving every day in a rush to come and see Harry. Prison guards and governors and various other authorities popped in and out of the ward Harry was placed on, talking to him and giving him this, that and the other to sign, and he wrote his name on every single bit of paper they shoved at him.

One evening, Louis came into the hospital for five minutes, just to say goodnight – and Harry threw his arms around Louis’ neck and told him delightedly that he was being moved back to Stonehaven. Louis started crying – although he insisted that he’d ‘poked himself in the eye’ – and walked around with both eyes streaming and a huge grin on his face for the rest of the day.

Another four days passed, and then the van was sent to the hospital, and Harry was discharged. Before they knew it, he was being welcomed back to Stonehaven like a hero, applauded by every single prisoner as he struggled in on his crutches, and nobody clapped louder than Louis, whose hands ended up bright red because he clapped so hard. Then, Louis whisked Harry off to his office ‘for a chat’ and for the next hour, they did all manner of things that a psychiatrist should definitely  _not_  have been doing to his patient. The session ended with Louis dramatically uncovering Harry’s chair, and Harry curled up in it with a smile on his face that couldn’t have been any bigger, or any more genuine.

Harry was locked in various meetings for a week or so, which he complained were boring and monotonous, and Louis attempted to gain access on the pretence of believing Harry ought to have someone there in case his mental health deteriorated from stress. It was a pretty weak excuse, and nobody bought it, so Harry ended up going to each one on his own – although after each meeting he told Louis in relief that ‘It was  _so_ boring, you would have fallen asleep!’ and Louis wondered if maybe Harry hadn’t  _wanted_ him to come. He stopped thinking about it after a while. Why should it matter? He wasn’t exactly thrilled by the idea of sitting in a musty room listening to prison officials talk to Harry.

At home he was far more cheerful as well; Jay noticed and commented on his sudden mood lift, and when he went out one Friday night with Stan and Hannah, they also spotted the grin that never left his face and how he almost seemed to  _bounce_  with happiness, and he was subjected to a very long interrogation about what exactly had he been doing – and had he been messing around with that prison guy he’d been talking about? Louis smiled angelically and said nothing, but he was so excited that he acted drunk before he’d had even a tiny bit of alcohol, so that when he actually got drunk he was so intoxicated that he sat laughing at absolutely nothing for a whole twenty minutes, and Jay had to come and pick him up from the pub and put him to bed before he laughed so much that he made himself sick.

Nobody complained about his mood, although Harry did tease him several times that if he didn’t stop bouncing around, he would go through the roof. That amused the giddy Louis endlessly, and he couldn’t stop laughing about it – until Harry tutted and kissed him, hard, just to shut him up.

The kisses were yet another thing that Louis could never get enough of. The two of them spent ridiculous amounts of time in the office, just kissing, because they were pretty sure it was about time they caught up on everything they’d missed out on. Sometimes they completely  lost track of time and resurfaced to find that hours had passed; other times they only spent a minute lost in passion and the rest of the time just talking. Louis had missed their talks more than anything, and they made up for it by determinedly not shutting up until there was a line of impatient prisoners banging on the door waiting for their turn with the psychiatrist. It was quite ironic, really, that so many people were stood outside yelling, and yet they didn’t realize that right behind the door, Harry and Louis were cheerfully kissing until they were both almost incoherent. It was still most definitely illegal, immoral and dangerous, if they were caught, but neither of them could bring themselves to care about that any more.

At one point, they slept together, quite literally; one minute Harry was sat in his chair, and then Louis was wriggling in beside him, stroking his face almost without thinking, and smiling at him with an expression of adoration on his face that was almost frightening; it would have been scary if Harry hadn’t felt exactly the same. They had talked quietly for a while about very little, until Harry’s murmurs became Louis’ lullaby, soothing him to sleep so that his head lolled against Harry’s shoulder and he drooped, falling unconscious underneath the arm that Harry had lazily thrown around his shoulder. Eventually, the soft sounds of his breathing had lulled Harry to sleep as well – the insistent buzz  of Louis’ timer had awoken them, along with loud bashing on the door, and they had both stiffly clambered out of the chair with irremovable smiles on their faces, their bond closer than ever before.

The fact that something as small and simple as that could make them so happy was proof enough for Louis that their relationship could last.

It was unspoken between them that they would stay together now; even Harry had stopped doubting it. They had to restrain things slightly, of course; certain things would be beyond them as long as they both had to stay in the building. Louis had been making plans at the back of his mind, and he was pretty sure that if they could last the five, or even ten, years that Harry might still have to stay here, then marriage would obviously be their next option, and although he didn’t start wearing a chastity ring, it occurred to him that in a way, he was choosing not to have sex before marriage. The idea pleased him, somehow; he’d always thought it was sweet to be a virgin on your wedding night, even though he’d never thought about the possibility of marrying anyone at all. He didn’t know whether Harry had ever been with anyone before him, nor did he care. All he knew was that on their wedding day, they could head off to the honeymoon to consummate the marriage, and make that day the best of their lives in more ways than one.

He didn’t discuss it with Harry, but it seemed to him like the most sensible option. Planning the wedding ten years in advance also would have seemed a ludicrous idea to some, but Louis was so certain that it would happen that he thought he might as well be prepared – after all, after ten years, he’d be pretty eager to whisk Harry away to America as quickly as possible, where he knew gay marriage was legalized in some states. He didn’t want a civil partnership; he wanted a  _marriage_ , a true joining of hands and hearts, so that Harry could truly belong to him. Saying “this is my partner” would never be enough for Louis. One day, he wanted to be able to say “this is my husband”, and anyone who didn’t like it could – well, he wouldn’t spoil the thought by grimly thinking about what they could do. Suffice to say it wasn’t printable.

He had his doubts, of course; remembering his mother’s initial reaction when he had first mentioned _talking_ to Harry, he was anxious that she would be less than enthusiastic about his relationship choice. Still, she was his mum, and if she didn’t respect his decisions, she would just have to live with not seeing him until she had. To accept him was to accept his choices, and that was something he’d always stood by. On his very first date, when he was just fifteen, he had made it clear that she would abide by his decisions and not try to change him – and true to her word, when he had brought a boy from school home with him, she hadn’t protested at all. Louis had loved her for accepting him how he was, and he hoped she could remain as impartial as she always had. If not…he would learn to live with it. Louis had always been stubborn; he was confident he could last longer than she could.

He wasn’t remotely bothered about Harry’s mum, who he knew Harry adored. From the sound of her, Anne seemed sweet and far less hotheaded than Jay. Louis knew his mother could be impulsive sometimes, whereas Anne sounded…not more reliable, but quieter, somehow, more accepting. According to Harry, anyway. Despite having never met the woman, Louis was sure he would get along with her. The idea of meeting Harry’s sister Gemma didn’t faze him either; he was fairly sure he could talk her around if she didn’t take a shine to him at first, and from the sounds of it, Harry didn’t seem to have considered the possibility that any member of his family would dislike Louis. It was a relief to think that he might fit in perfectly with Harry’s family – it only made him feel guilty that his own mother was unlikely to be as tolerant.

He  _could_ wait, and he  _would_ …but he wistfully dreamed of the day when the two of them could finally escape Stonehaven, and then Louis could meet the people who had brought up the boy he cared for most in the world. Then, he would join their family, and hopefully they would accept him – and then all of them could focus on revolving around Harry, the only corresponding factor in their world, and the one thing they all loved with all their hearts.


	25. Chapter 25

Louis was wandering aimlessly down the corridor when someone slammed into the back of him, knocking him quite literally to the ground. He landed with a yelp on the floor, and found that he was being pinned to the ground – and his thoughts went instantly to the little yellow button that was certainly too far away to press. Besides, no guards were posted outside his office door anymore; everyone loved him, and nobody seemed to have any concerns that he would be attacked. Yet clearly the security shouldn’t have been relaxed, because someone was holding him down firmly on the floor so that he had no room to maneouvre and barely enough space to breathe. _  
_

Before he could open his mouth and start yelling, lips touched his neck, and a familiar warm mouth started exploring his collarbone, his jaw, the back of his neck, his cheek…hands tugged impatiently at the collar of his shirt as his assailant scrabbled for access to his back.

“You scared the life out of me!” Louis scolded, relaxing in an instant.

Harry laughed quietly. “Sorry. I was just excited.” Slipping off Louis’ back, he reached for his boyfriend’s hand and helped him to his feet, fondly brushing dust off his shirt with a sheepish grin.

“Right,” said Louis cheerfully, putting an arm around Harry’s waist, worriedly withdrawing it, and then making a resigned sound and slipping it back again. “Was there any particular  _reason_  why you decided to jump on me?”

“Oh, yes.” Harry’s eyes danced with joy. “Can we step into your office, Mr. Tomlinson?”

“Absolutely not,” Louis teased, taking Harry’s hand. “Of course we can, you fool. You still think you need to ask?”

“Well, it is  _your_  office,” Harry pointed out as he pushed the door open and slid inside, pulling Louis after him. He slapped the wall, switching the light on, then twisted sharply so that he was pressed against Louis’ chest, their interlocked fingers trapped between them. “You need  _somewhere_  to keep your packets of chocolate Hob Nobs. Which you still owe me, by the way.”

“Consider it a joint ownership,” Louis offered, grinning at him. “My heart – and my biscuits – are yours.”

Harry kissed him in response, and they stood together for a while, lips moving gently together. Louis swayed almost dizzily, and Harry chuckled, releasing his fingers to place a supportive hand on Louis’ spine. He had refined his kissing technique in the few weeks they had spent together: gone were the days of messy tongue-tangling, replaced by the kind of kissing expertise that made Louis’ stomach swoop at the slightest touch. Harry’s fingers brushed his arm, lingering on his wrist, and they did that for a while. One of Harry’s hands was still behind his back, unseen, although Louis didn’t it pay much attention.

“Right,” he managed breathlessly when they eventually separated. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

A slow pause, Harry’s face lighting up with a perfect grin, his green eyes sparkling as he hesitated for effect, linking their fingers together again. Eventually, when Louis thought he might go mad with suspense, Harry brought a crisp white sheet of paper out from behind his back and waved it under Louis’ nose with a thrilled expression on his face. Frowning slightly, not understanding, Louis let his eyes skitter quickly down the official-looking document, skimming through it in confusion. He was just about to ask Harry what exactly he was supposed to be looking at, when his breath stuck in his throat and he choked, his lungs constricting as he tried to remember how to breathe, couldn’t seem to remember, and felt his heart stuttering and fear shivering through him like ice in his veins in case this was some kind of wind-up.

At the bottom of the paper, in huge red block-capitals, screaming out at them so Louis could barely believe it had taken him so long to notice it, was stamped ‘BAIL GRANTED’ in huge, slightly smudged scarlet lettering.

Louis forgot what words were as he stared in utter shock at Harry, almost expecting things to start melting away like he was waking up from the best dream he’d ever had.

Seconds later their lips collided in a raw, rough, messy kiss, Louis grabbing as much of Harry’s hair as he could and twisting it around his fingers as he slid his arms around Harry’s neck and kissed him until they were both breathless and pink, until they had both forgotten was breathing  _was_. His heart racing, Louis smashed their mouths together over and over again, excitement and passion spilling over, until somehow the desperation gentled into their usual soft kisses, but with an undercurrent of longing sparking through every movement of their lips. Nibbling Harry’s bottom lip, Louis nudged him affectionately with his mouth and then drew back, taking deep breaths.

“You never told me you were trying to get bail!”

“I didn’t want to get your hopes up,” Harry admitted, wiping his shiny mouth with the back of his hand, lifting Louis’ hand as well because he wouldn’t let go of his fingers. “It was never certain that I would get it. If there was a chance, and I  _didn’t_  get it…well, I thought it would disappoint you, knowing that there was the possibility of me being released for a bit, and it didn’t work out.”

“Oh, Harry,” Louis said softly, touching his cheek.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” Harry asked. “We can be together…all day, and all night. Even if it’s just for a little while.”

Louis kissed him. “I can do  _this_ ,” he murmured, “whenever I like – and not have to look over my shoulder all the time.”

“Not to mention,” Harry reminded him quietly, “plenty of opportunities for… _other_ things.” He let his hand play down Louis’ chest and rest for a while on his hip to show what he meant.

A low shudder rippled through Louis’ body. He had always been thinking about no sex before marriage – but if they had the chance, why wait?

“I think we’ll be able to fit… _other things_ into my incredibly busy schedule,” he whispered playfully.

Harry bit his lip. “That sounds…you know…good.”

They both blushed.

“I hope you realize I’m not, erm…particularly  _experienced_ at that kind of thing,” Louis confessed, looking at his shoes in embarrassment. “I’ve never actually…done it. Before.”

He’d expected Harry to grin at him and say ‘Awww, how cute!’ – but to his surprise, Harry smiled sheepishly, like a naughty child. “That makes two of us, then.”

“What – really?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t feel stupid,” Louis said softly, brushing Harry’s face with his fingertips. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re going to do it for the first time with someone you truly care about – better that than some pointless fling, or a casual one-night stand you’ll never see again. Don’t be ashamed.  _I’m_  not.”

“I’m not  _ashamed_ ,” Harry insisted. “I just…don’t want to do it wrong.”

“Didn’t you hear what I just said? I’m a virgin, too. Weird as it sounds, we’re both new to this – neither of us are exactly going to know what’s meant  to happen. If it doesn’t go perfectly, how will we know? It could be completely normal. We won’t know until we try.”

Harry laughed. “I’m glad we’re doing this, you know, when I get out – I was terrified I’d never get the chance until I got out. Imagine that; I’d be a twenty-eight year old virgin!”

Louis bit his lip and smiled. “Well, don’t think I’d be doing it with anyone else while you were locked away! I’d be a thirty year old virgin – that’s dangerously close to being a real-life version of that movie…you know the one.”

“ _The Forty Year Old Virgin_? Yeah, that would be pretty embarrassing,” Harry admitted.

Louis giggled. “I know this is kind of immature, but…I don’t think I’ve ever said the word ‘virgin’ so much in one conversation.”

“Me neither. I can’t imagine discussing my virginity with that lot out there, can you?”

They both burst out laughing. Childishly, this sparked a debate about which of the prisoners were virgins and which weren’t, a conversation that would have mortified almost all of the people who they talked about – especially Liam, who they both agreed would  _definitely_ be a virgin on his wedding night, and Niall, who Harry proclaimed ‘too innocent’ to have ever done anything – and even though not a thing they said was anything more than a joke, it calmed the atmosphere and helped them not to feel awkward about their decision.  Admittedly, some of the shyness returned when Louis happened to mention that his flat had only one bedroom, and therefore they would be sharing, but seeing as neither of them exactly objected to the idea, soon they were too excited to be nervous.

“It’ll be kind of like a sleepover,” Louis said eagerly.

Harry smirked. “Oh yeah, definitely. What kind of sleepovers have you been going to?”

Louis punched him lightly. “You know what I mean. I’ll get food and DVDs, we’ll have a movie marathon. Come on, what films do you like? Horror movies?”

Shuddering in mock horror, Harry tutted “Just because I’ve killed someone doesn’t mean that I  _like_ blood and guts. I’m more of the romantic comedy type.”

“Really? Oh my God, that’s adorable. Have you ever watched  _Grease_? Tell me you like  _Grease_!” Louis begged.

“Of course I like  _Grease_ , what do you take me for? Rom-coms, chick-flicks – I’m a big girl at heart. _Grease_ is just the  _pinnacle_ of slushy, cheesy love films. Plus, it’s catchy.”

Louis kissed him on the nose in delight. “Finally, someone gets it! Oh my God, you like  _Grease_. It’s official; we’re getting married,” he declared, taking Harry’s hand and kissing it.

“I’d have hoped we were getting married anyway, similar movie tastes aside,” Harry said dryly.

Shoving him playfully, Louis rolled his eyes. “Obviously – but now it’s going to be even better, because we can have girly movie marathons!”

“You’re so masculine,” Harry snorted, “are you sure you’re not a woman?”

“Definitely not. What are you on about, you? I’m obviously the most masculine guy you’ve ever met – check out my biceps!” He flexed his arm proudly, and they both watched his arm muscles rippling underneath the skin.

“Oh yes, because we’re real men, and real men watch chick-flicks.”

“Real men  _do_ watch chick-flicks,” announced Louis. “Real men also wear pink frilly aprons and do ballet – feel free to try those things, by the way; I’m sure you’d look adorable.”

“I’m not going to do ballet, Louis. But bring me popcorn, and I’m your slave.”

“Any other requests?” Louis asked, blindly reaching for his notebook and a pen without looking away from Harry’s face. “Do you like ice cream?”

“What kind of stupid question is that? Who  _doesn’t_ like ice cream?” Harry shook his head in disbelief.

“I know a girl,” muttered Louis, scribbling  _ice cream_ down.

“What kind of people have you been associating with, that don’t like ice cream?”

Louis shrugged. “Unusual ones? Hmm…any preference of flavour?”

“Anything other than mint choc chip,” Harry dictated. “Preferably something with lots of E-numbers.”

“Well, when you have a crazy sugar rush and start bouncing off the walls, don’t blame me…Ben and Jerry’s?”

“Is there any other kind of ice cream?”

“I must admit, if you told me you had a fetish for ASDA’s smart-price vanilla, I would probably disown you…” smiling to himself, Louis added another quick note to his bit of paper and then dropped it back onto his desk. “I think that’s everything.”

“Nope,” Harry said, nuzzling against his neck. “That is most definitely  _not_ everything.”

Louis rolled his eyes as he turned his head to kiss him, and he thought with amusement that Harry really was the most shameful flirt he’d ever met, and it was a good job he enjoyed it.


	26. Chapter 26

When Harry stepped with a huge smile on his face out of the main door of the prison, he didn’t walk into the arms of a giant welcoming committee. He had deliberately chosen not to tell anyone but Louis that he was being released on bail; if he turned up at his mum’s house completely out of the blue, he knew she would be thrilled. Besides, he had other things he wanted to do for his first few hours of freedom that didn’t involve hugging every member of his family that his mother could contact. So as he moved out into the sunlight with a suitcase clasped in his hand, he looked straight into the face of the only person he had needed to be there. They both grinned at each other, and then Harry ran forwards in a blur and leapt on Louis, jumping into his arms as if they were in some kind of cheesy movie. Catching him, Louis twirled him round several times in the air, then unceremoniously plonked him back down again and gave him a huge, unrestrained kiss on the lips right there in the middle of the street.

Smiling, Harry pulled away first, but he made no move to disentangle himself from the arms that Louis had wrapped firmly around his waist. One hand was busy with a suitcase, but the other found its way to the small of Louis’ back and started stroking gently, as Harry watched him with a sparkling light in his green eyes. In full view of the prison, they perhaps shouldn’t have been embracing so blatantly, but excitement had sent Louis giddy, and honestly, he couldn’t have cared less. In any case, Harry wasn’t in the prison at that current moment, so Louis wasn’t his psychiatrist any more. The thought made Louis bite his lip and then hug Harry hard, burying his face in his shoulder as he thought about how strange it was to be holding Harry when they were outside, and not in a shadowy office. The prison had a yard, of course, but they hadn’t exactly been able to stand and cuddle in front of a few hundred other people.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Louis whispered. “You’re a free man…for now, at least.”

With the tip of one finger, Harry touched Louis’ lips, then lightly traced the shape of them, a fiercely tender expression on his face. They were still wound around each other, Louis’ arms keeping Harry in place beside him; their eyes had met and were shining with happiness as they stared in amazement at each other, like they could hardly believe that this was happening. For Harry, certainly, it was true. He hadn’t been in the outside world without being chained to a prison guard since he was sixteen, and the fact that he was there with Louis only made the moment more special. His fingers found their way into Louis’ hair, and his nose buried itself in Louis’ shoulder as he inhaled deeply, trying to subdue his wild emotions that were telling him to start crying. For the strangest reason, which he couldn’t quite understand, he was  _shaking_.

“Hey,” said Louis gently, pulling back a little, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled, rubbing his eyes, “just a bit…I don’t know, it’s a lot to take in.”

“Don’t cry, beautiful,” Louis begged. “We’re here…and together…that’s more than either of us could have hoped for.”

“I’m only crying because I’m so happy,” promised Harry with a wobbly smile, fluffing Louis’ hair up at the back. “This is really happening, isn’t it?”

In response, Louis kissed his tears away, and then kissed him again until they both forgot where they were, and only an angry beep of a horn as a car nearly smashed straight into them jerked them out of their reverie as they stumbled out of the middle of the road. Their eyes met again, and they started laughing.

“Come on,” Louis said amusedly, “let’s get you into the car, before we both end up as road-kill.”

“How very romantic of you to say so. I have to say I’m disappointed. No violins or roses? I’d have expected you to push the boat out a little,” Harry teased.

“ _Roses_? Good God, you must be joking! I don’t get paid an awful lot for being a psychiatrist, you know. I’m not  _made_ of money.” Louis grinned.

He guided Harry over to the Porsche and opened the door for him, and Harry happily slipped inside, handing over his suitcase. As Louis loaded Harry’s things into the back of the car, he couldn’t help bouncing up and down slightly with anticipation. Taking Harry home…something he’d scarcely dared dream about before. His legs were trembling as he got into the front seat, and he squeezed Harry’s hand for reassurance that nothing was going to melt away. Reassured, he turned the key in the ignition and started to drive them down the road, wondering if it was possible to explode with joy, and whether he would make much of a mess when he did it.

“Did you get the movies?” Harry asked.

“Of course I did. Oh, and they were doing a discount on popcorn at the supermarket, so I picked up maybe a few more bags than were strictly necessary…still, you’ve got, what, a month? I’m sure we can finish twelve bags of popcorn in a month…”

“Oh, God. We’ll have popcorn coming out of our ears!”

“Probably. Don’t worry, we’ll borrow someone’s dog. There’s a guy on my road with a really fat Daschund – I’ll get him to bring it over, and it can eat all the leftovers.”

“ _What_?” Harry burst out laughing. “Louis, you’re absolutely mad!”

“Quite possibly,” Louis cheerfully agreed. “But it’s a good plan.”

“Do Daschunds  _like_ popcorn?”

“That one does. Trust me, it eats anything. It’s morbidly obese.”

Shaking his head with his lips pressed together in amusement, Harry looked out of the window and tried not to grab Louis and kiss him once again. Now that they had the chance, not kissing when there was plenty of opportunity seemed kind of wasteful – but uncertain that Louis could drive and snog at the same time, he decided that it would be a better idea to avert his gaze.

“By the way, don’t be offended by my flat. It’s not the tidiest of places.”

“I’m sure I’ll live. You don’t have a hairy Brazilian flat-mate that you forgot to mention to me, do you?”

“The last time I checked, the only thing I shared my flat with was a very large spider called Brian.”

“Who calls a spider  _Brian_?”

“I did. I thought it looked like a Brian.”

“Once again: you’re mad. But that’s why I love you…although I don’t really  _like_ spiders.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m going to evict him for not paying his rent, then, isn’t it?” Louis said instantly, trying not to laugh. “I hope your dislike for him won’t stop you from attending his funeral.”

“You’re going to squish him?”

“If you want me to.”

“You’d squish your spider for me? I…I’m getting quite emotional.”

“So you should. This wasn’t an easy decision. I was getting quite used to the little guy…but yes, for you, I will squish him and flush his mangled body down the toilet.”

“How romantic. For me you would crush a spider. This makes me feel so special.”

“For you, Harry, I would crush ten thousand spiders.” With a huge, idiotic grin, Louis swiftly pulled out of the car park, hoping that he wouldn’t ever have to live up to that promise. Truthfully, he wasn’t all too keen on spiders himself, and the idea of crushing even one made him feel ill – he’d only left it so long because he’d been afraid to touch it so he could get rid of it. Still…for Harry, he would kill Brian the spider, and keep his girly squeals of disgust to a minimum. 

 *  *  *  *  *  *

When Louis neatly parked the Porsche in the car-park, and they got out of the car to look up at the block of flats towering above them, the first thing Harry did was to stop and take several deep breaths of fresh air and look around at the place where Louis lived. Never before had he seen this side to Louis, the life he had beyond the prison walls…been told about it, yes, but he had never experienced it for himself. Yet there he was, looking at Louis’ home, the wind playing with his curls.

Louis took a step closer to him, and put an arm around his waist. Then he leaned in, pressed his lips to Harry’s ear, and whispered “Welcome home.”

Harry very nearly whirled around and kissed him until they both fell to the ground. He came dangerously close to ripping Louis’ clothes off and doing all manner of things that should not be done in public. Luckily, throughout the course of their relationship, his self-restraint had become quite an impressive thing – so he managed to sigh softly and leave it at that, knowing that just that sigh was enough to tell Louis everything he was thinking just then.

Together they headed up to the top floor, where Louis’ flat was, Louis striding ahead despite having Harry’s suitcase to weigh him down because he was used to the climb, while Harry huffed helplessly behind him. When they reached Louis’ door, he reached for his keys and then froze…because his front door was already open, swinging slightly on its hinges, showing a tiny sliver of the room beyond. Panting heavily, Harry caught him up, and they both paused to look at the ajar front door of Louis’ flat.

“Crime rates must be pretty low in this area if you can leave your front door wide open like that,” Harry commented.

Louis said in a low voice, “I didn’t.”

He reached out and grabbed Harry’s wrist for reassurance – then the two of them stepped forwards as Louis pushed his door and they moved cautiously into the flat.

There was someone stood in the middle of Louis’ kitchen; someone shorter than him, but not by much, with glossy chestnut hair and a familiar stance. Louis knew exactly who it was, and he paused, dropping Harry’s hand, because he was instantly anxious about what she might say. Advancing a few steps closer into the kitchen, he cleared his throat and said softly, “Mum?”

Jay turned around, beaming. “Lou! I’m sorry for letting myself in like this, I was just –” spotting Harry, who was stood quietly a few steps behind Louis, she stopped dead.

At first, Louis stood and looked at her for a while. He hesitated a moment before realizing that he had no reason to try to hide anything. He wasn’t ashamed of Harry, and he refused to act like it. Reaching behind him, he took Harry’s hand and pulled him a little closer, so that Harry’s warmth was pressed comfortingly against his back and Louis could lean against him a little for support.

“This is Harry,” Louis said. “He’s my –” he paused. What  _was_ Harry, exactly?  _‘My true love’_? ‘ _My best friend’_? ‘ _My fiancé’_? Harry was all of those things and more – and although ‘fiancé’ seemed the most accurate out of all of them, he had never actually asked Harry to marry him. It was taken for granted between them that they  _would_ get married, someday, and Louis knew that as far as they were concerned, they were engaged, but he was fairly sure it wasn’t considered official until he had put a ring on Harry’s finger – so he ended up saying inadequately, “He’s my boyfriend.” The words weren’t enough, but Harry would understand.

The second the words left his mouth, he knew that Jay wasn’t going to accept it. Her whole face turned harder than stone, her eyes suddenly dark and cold, and Louis understood that this wasn’t going to go well at all. It was unspoken between the two of them, as they stared each other down, that they would start yelling at each other in a matter of seconds – and Louis didn’t want Harry caught up in that. He would only try to help, but that could make things so much worse.

Without turning around, he said gently “Harry, could you give us a moment?”

“Sure,” Harry agreed anxiously, trying to disentangle his fingers from Louis’.

Before Harry could move any further away from him, Louis twisted around and caught his face in both hands, holding him still. He brushed their lips faintly together in the ghost of a kiss, hoping that Harry would understand what he couldn’t say. Where their mouths touched, he felt flames leaping between them – and his mother’s scorching glare burning his back. Sighing, Louis withdrew far too soon for his liking.

“I won’t be long,” he promised. “Wait for me?”

Nodding seriously, Harry gave one last worried glance over Louis’ shoulder at Jay, then swallowed and vanished into Louis’ bedroom. Taking a deep breath, Louis slowly turned to face his angry mother, and her stinging accusations immediately hit him like a slap in the face.

“How  _could_ you?”

Suddenly exhausted, Louis sighed wearily and massaged his forehead. Not that he would have admitted it, but he’d never really caught up on his sleep since Harry had first been carted off to Whitehall, and his excitement over the idea of Harry getting bail had given him a good few more sleepless nights since then. He wasn’t in the mood for some verbal sparring with his mum. Still, he would defend Harry to the death – melodramatic, but true – so he mentally shook himself and prepared for the yelling.

“Quite easily, mother,” he said tiredly. “I fell in love with him, he fell in love with me…it’s as simple as _that_.” He clicked his fingers.

Jay twitched in irritation: he only ever called her ‘mother’ when he was being patronizing. “You can’t possibly be in love with a man like that.”

“I obviously am, though. So he made a mistake – a  _terrible_ mistake. When are people going to stop condemning him for that? He’s a human being! He deserves to be given a chance!”

“He’s not a human being; he’s a murderer. He deserves  _nothing_.”

“He’s still a human being! You don’t have the right to talk about him like that. He’s funny and clever and gorgeous – more than a match for me. We’re so alike, it’s unbelievable. He’s  _perfect_ for me, mum. He’s everything I could have ever asked for.”

“He’s a  _monster_!” Jay hissed.

Louis imagined Harry’s face twisting in misery when he heard that, and he was suddenly furious.

“I’m in love with that ‘monster’,” he snapped, “and I think he’s far less monstrous than you are right now. If you’re going to be horrible, I think you should leave.”

“You’ll never see your sisters again!” she threatened. “I’ll not have them associating with people like him. If you want to stay in contact with them, Louis, then I swear, you throw that man out right now. Otherwise, you might as well forget that you ever  _had_ siblings!”

The look on Louis’ face was terrible – cold and hard. “If that’s what you want, then fine. I hope you’ll tell the girls goodbye from me.”

Jay’s head jerked like he’d slapped her. “I’ll tell them  _nothing_! Only the truth – that you cared more about some violent, murdering stranger than your own sisters!”

“Harry is everything to me,” Louis said simply. “More than my own life. I’d give anything and everything for him – even my family, if it comes to that.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t tell me what I do or don’t mean. I’d do anything for Harry; don’t you think I wouldn’t.”

“Louis Tomlinson, you listen to me! I don’t want you tearing our family apart for some terrible man you don’t even know, no matter how much you think you love him. So I want you to go in there and throw that monster out of your house, do you understand me?”

There was a long and awful silence.

“You’re sure that’s what you want?” asked Louis eventually.

She folded her arms. “Yes, I am.”

Louis took a deep breath, walked straight past her – then firmly planted his hands on her shoulders and steered her towards the door.

“What on earth are you doing?” she cried.

“I’m throwing the monster out of my house,” said Louis expressionlessly.

“ _Louis_!”

Ignoring her protests, he pushed her over the threshold, then slammed the door in her face. Seconds later, he was locking it and sliding the bolts home, blocking her out.

Harry came bursting out of the bedroom. “Louis, what –” stopping in confusion, he looked around. “Where’s your mum?”

“Gone,” Louis said blankly, reaching onto the kitchen counter for the spare key she had left there.

In shock, Harry asked “Gone? Gone where?”

“Gone from our lives,” Louis said as calmly as he could.

“But –”

Taking Harry’s hand, Louis pressed the keys firmly into Harry’s palm and folded his fingers around them so that he had a grip on them.

“These are yours now.”

“But Louis –”

“If she decides to be reasonable, I’ll cut her a new set,” promised Louis. “But for now…those are yours. That’s my promise: it’s you and me, over everything else. If people don’t like you, then they don’t like me either. We’ll lock everyone out who isn’t willing to accept you.”

“Oh, Louis. I didn’t want you to fight with your family because of me.”

“It wasn’t your fault. She was the one who was being unreasonable, not you. You’ve been great.” Louis rubbed his back comfortingly. “Things will be okay, Harry. I promise. Everything will be fine.”

“Yeah…” Harry sighed heavily.

“Hey,” Louis murmured, lowering his lips to Harry’s neck. “Don’t. Just…don’t. Forget about her, okay? She’s my problem, not yours.”

“Okay,” was Harry’s eventual reply.

“That’s settled then,” whispered Louis. “Now…you may have had a five-minute glance, but…I think maybe you could do with a more… _thorough_ look at our bedroom. How does that sound to you?”

Harry grinned as Louis grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the bedroom. “I thought you’d never ask.”


	27. Chapter 27

When he woke up, Louis was sore in interesting new places and completely exhausted – but happier than he’d ever been in his life. Turning his head slightly, he found that he was lying beside Harry in the exact same position he’d been when he’d closed his eyes the night before; he hadn’t so much as twitched. Harry’s bare arm was curled around his waist, and Louis had snuggled into his chest and not moved an inch. Harry was still asleep, his mouth hanging open, snoring softly with his hair falling across his face, and Louis smiled softly as the blank look on his face. He’d rarely ever seen Harry so relaxed. Trailing his fingers lightly down Harry’s arm, he eventually placed his hand over Harry’s and gently stroked his fingers for a while. **  
**

He’d been doing that for about five minutes when Harry moaned sleepily and wriggled closer against Louis, tightening his arm around him. Louis smiled fondly and squeezed Harry’s hand.

“Morning,” he said softly.

“Mmm….morning,” Harry muttered. He reached up and rubbed his eyes.

“Tired, are we?” teased Louis. “How are you?”

“I could sleep for a week, but other than that…I’m great.” Harry forced his eyes open and managed a weary smile.

“And how do you  _feel_?” Louis nudged him lightly to show what he meant.

“…Interesting,” Harry said mildly. “A few places feel…kind of… _different_.”

Louis laughed. “Yeah…same here.”

“Nice, though,” Harry assured him. “It hurts a bit, but…it’s kind of a good hurt, you know what I mean?”

“I know  _exactly_ what you mean. I think that overall, last night was a success, don’t you?”

“Definitely,” Harry agreed. “I can’t think of a better way to have spent my first night of freedom.”

Louis leaned in and wrapped an arm lazily around his neck, twisting his fingers in Harry’s curls. “Well, if you don’t have any objections, I’m sure you won’t mind spending the second night in the same way…and the third…” He trailed off suggestively.

“Oh, I think that could be arranged…” Harry grinned and tapped him lightly on the elbow. “I hope you can keep it up…we’d better get as much done as we can in this next month.”

“Shhhhh.” Louis tapped his nose. “We’ve got the rest of our lives.”

“I’d love to think that, Lou, but –”

“Don’t,” Louis pleaded. “Don’t talk like that. Let’s look on the bright side. We’re here, aren’t we? We’re together. Why spoil that by being pessimistic?”

“Okay,” Harry sighed, rolling over onto his back and folding his arms behind his head. “I’m sorry.”

Louis propped himself up on one elbow and stroked Harry’s cheek. “Come on, cheer up. For me? Let’s see those dimples!”

Harry tried to scowl at him, but to his disgust, a dimple appeared on each cheek anyway, betraying him. Louis laughed fondly at his expression and smoothed his hair, hopelessly amused.

“What are we doing today, then?” asked Harry, a reluctant smile finding its way back onto his face.

“I thought we could watch some of those movies I rented,” Louis suggested. “We’ll have popcorn for breakfast – it’s closer to lunchtime anyway.”

That was how they ended up snuggled up on the sofa in Louis’ living room, wrapped in his duvet and feeding each other popcorn, too lazy and stiff to get dressed, and watching films that would have been more likely to show up at a teenage girls’ sleepover. After six hours crammed together wearing nothing but Louis’ chocolate brown duvet, they ended up in the kitchen while Louis attempted to make Harry lunch – and eventually Harry won the argument that toast didn’t count as a meal, and ended up proving that despite not having been in a kitchen for two years, he could still beat Louis at cooking hands down. They ended up settling down to eat food that Louis hadn’t known could be made with what little he had in his kitchen – and he ended up begging Harry to become their designated cook, which Harry agreed to surprisingly quickly.

“I think I better had,” he muttered, “after all, if I don’t, you’ll poison yourself before I get a chance to find out whether I’m staying here for good.

Then, of course, came the moment Louis had been worrying about.

“I think you should meet my mum.”

He’d been expecting Harry to say it – after all, it was no secret that he was about as close to his mum as a teenage boy could be. Still, Louis felt his intestines dying themselves in a double knot and a jar full of butterflies was released into his stomach as the words came out of Harry’s mouth, and as he attempted a smile, he thought he would rather go and meet an angry tiger.

“Louis, I promise, you’ll love her,” Harry insisted, seeming to interpret his silence. “She’s amazing. I’d trust her with my life.”

“That’s part of the problem,” Louis muttered ashamedly. “My mum was horrible to you. If yours is really nice, I’ll feel awful.”

“You have to understand her point of view, Louis. I’m a murderer. Most people would agree with her; very few people want their son to fall in love with a killer.”

“But you’re different!” Louis protested.

“Maybe one day, I can prove that to her. For now…” Harry touched his cheek. “For now, I don’t  _need_ your family to like me. All I want is you. Please trust me when I say that my mum will love you.  _Please_.” 

 *  *  *  *  *  *

That was how the two of them ended up standing on a doorstep in Holmes Chapel, knocking politely and waiting for someone to answer the door. Harry’s arm had found its way around Louis’ waist, and he certainly wasn’t complaining. Taking a deep breath, he turned to Harry to suggest that maybe Anne was out, and they’d just missed her –

The door opened, and there stood Harry’s mum, blinking at them in shock.

“Harry!”

She hugged him – hard, crushing him against her chest so that he staggered. He’d barely had  time to recover before she was gasping and shoving him away from her in panic, so hard that Louis had to catch him before he fell off the step.

“ _Harry_!” she shrieked again.

Stunned, Harry asked “ _What_?”

“What on earth are you doing here? Oh my goodness, have you  _broken out_? Harry, what the hell have you  _done_? They’ll increase your sentence ridiculously for this!”

“ _Mum_!”

“I told you to behave yourself, for God’s sake! You’ll never see the light of day again!”

“But I –”

“You can’t just go  _breaking out of prison_ whenever you feel like it! What is  _wrong_ with you?”

“Mum!” Harry interrupted. “I haven’t broken out! I’m on  _bail_!”

“You –” she paused dazedly – and then her attention turned to Louis.

“This is Louis,” Harry said before she could start talking again. “My…boyfriend.”

Anne  _stared_.

“Hi,” said Louis uncomfortably, waving awkwardly at her.

“But…you…aren’t you his  _psychiatrist_?” she demanded.

“Not at this  _exact_ moment in time,” Louis said evasively. “Not until he goes back to Stonehaven.”

“That’s  _illegal_!”

“I don’t care,” Harry told her stubbornly.

There was a very long pause, and eventually Anne muttered “Ugh, come in. We can’t have this kind of conversation on the doorstep.” She turned and vanished into the house.

“What do I do?” Louis whispered anxiously. “What should I say?”

Harry rubbed his forehead wearily. “Trust me, she’ll  _want_ to like you. Just…I don’t know, show her how we feel. Hold my hand, look into my eyes a lot, that kind of thing – not so much that it looks fake. Other than that…just be yourself. If she has any sense, she’ll love you just as much as I do.” He rested his head on Louis’ shoulder with a sigh.

“Perhaps not  _quite_ that much,” Louis said, smiling softly – and then he stepped over the threshold.

Anne was waiting for them in the living room, holding a cup of coffee with a stern expression on her face. They’d barely entered the room before she had said “Harry, out. I want a word with Louis.”

Not looking surprised, Harry dropped Louis’ hand and turned around almost without a pause, and then he left the room, abandoning Louis to face up to the scrutiny of his disapproving future mother-in law.

“Listen here,” she told him, stepping forwards, “I hope you’re not playing games. Because trust me, if  you are, I’ll rip you limb from limb. I care a great deal about my son. Don’t get me wrong, I love Gemma too – but Harry’s always been more…dependent. He feels things deeper than Gem does; he’s very emotional. If you broke his heart, it would destroy him. So I’m warning you now, Louis – if you aren’t one hundred per cent serious about this, turn around and walk straight out of that door, and I never want to see you again.”

“I’m completely serious,” Louis promised. “How could you doubt that? I’ve put my job – and my freedom – on the line for him. I’ve been forced to choose between him and my family, and I chose him. I’d do it all over again if I had to. I’d do anything he asked – and even if he  _didn’t_  ask, I’d do it anyway.”

“What if he gets in trouble again?” she demanded. “Would you go down for him? If he hadn’t been caught on CCTV stabbing that man, I would have lied for him in court. I was all set to take the wrap. If I could have done, I would have let them lock me away forever before I let them arrest my son. Would you do that?”

“I’d do whatever needed to be done.”

“If he asked you to, would you marry him? Right now – today?”

“It’s as good as done. If I’m honest, I’ve planned out our wedding in detail…not that I’ve told him that,” Louis admitted sheepishly.

“He’ll want kids, you know.”

“We’ll adopt.”

“You really think that social services would entrust a child to a murderer?”

“Then we’ll find a surrogate!” Louis said impatiently. “Don’t you understand what he means to me? If I could go back in time and take his place, and serve every year in prison that he was given, I would do it.”

“You’d better mean every word of this,” she threatened.

“If I ever break his heart,” Louis said solemnly, “then please, break  _me_.”

All of a sudden, Anne smiled at him, Harry’s bright grin unfurling across her face. “I was hoping you’d say that! Despite my motherly instincts to despise you for making my son break the law again, I actually like you.”

Louis grinned back at her. “I hope that stays the case.” His smile faded slightly. “I’m glad things have worked out here. My family…well, they’ve disowned me, basically.”

Putting an arm around his shoulders, Anne assured him warmly, “My son loves you, and from what I can see, you love him too. That’s good enough for me. You’re  _our_ family now.” She kissed him on the forehead in a motherly fashion. “Hey, Harry! Break open the bubbly and fetch me the phone book! We’ve got a party to organize!”

Harry came hurrying back in, snatched Louis out of his mother’s arms and then kissed him passionately while Anne fondly looked on. Eventually, they slid apart, and Harry whispered against Louis’ mouth

“Welcome to the family, Lou.”


	28. Chapter 28

Anne quickly became something to Louis that he had never expected to gain – a best friend who was twice his age. They got along like a house on fire; she popped round to his flat so often that he ended up cutting her a spare key, and it became an unspoken agreement between them that even if Harry ended up being sent down again, she would still be turning up at Louis’ house every weekend for a cup of tea without fail. Harry found it hilarious that his mum and his boyfriend had bonded so well, and sometimes he would go to the shops and come back to find the two of them merrily chatting away, something that amused him endlessly.

Louis managed to introduce Harry to his friends: some accepted him, and some didn’t, but Stan and Hannah were among the first to become mates with Harry, and majority of the rest of them soon followed suit. There was no word from Jay, apart from the odd angry answer-phone message, which Harry ignored. She did come round once to try and coax Louis to her point of view, but when Harry accidentally answered the door wearing nothing but his boxers and carrying a frying pan, she was so horrified by the idea of them having a physical relationship that she fled, and steered well clear of them both after that.

The thought of Harry having to leave haunted their every waking moment, and some of their dreams too: Louis had woken up more than once in terror, convinced that Harry was gone. It had taken an awful lot of reassuring hugs from Harry to reassure him otherwise, and after that they both made a point of sleeping in each others’ arms and not letting go.

Louis had expected their time together to go quickly, but thankfully it seemed to progress at normal speed, and between them they attended so many parties, family gatherings, meals and various other functions that they fully made up for everything Harry hadn’t done while he was in prison. They went on dates, too, of course; the cinema, restaurants, all the typical couple things. One time, they even went ice skating, and they were both so appalling at it that they laughed so much that Louis was surprised they didn’t melt the ice with the warmth of their happiness.

Still, however kind time was to them, it still passed, and they found themselves spending Harry’s last night of bail snuggled up in Louis’ bed by six o’clock at night, just lying in each other’s arms. They had been intending to make the most of their last night, but somehow Louis couldn’t find the energy to start ripping off Harry’s clothes like a wild beast, so he ended up curling up with him, just enjoying the sensation of being together, and being so close.

“I love you,” he said. “I haven’t said that enough.”

“You don’t have to say it,” Harry whispered. “I already know.”

They weren’t sure when they had both accepted that it would be their last night together – but accept it they had. It seemed inevitable: Harry was a killer, and he had only served two years of his sentence. Why would he be released? The thought made Louis’ heart heavy, but he was strangely calm about it.

“It’s been amazing,” Louis sighed. “Just…just being with you. I’ll never forget it. When we go back to having to hide…well, this will keep me going.”

“I never thought I could have a proper relationship with anyone,” Harry admitted. “I always thought I’d be alone. To find someone like you…to do the things we’ve done…it means so much to me. One day, we’ll be able to pick up where we left off.”

They sighed and watched each other for a while.

“Where do you want to get married?” asked Louis. “We’ll probably tie the knot in some state in America where it’s legalized, but there’s always the honeymoon, I suppose…if you could choose, where would you go?”

Harry gave a happy little sigh. “It sounds so amazing…getting married. I suppose it makes me think, because I always kind of thought of us as being married already. I know it isn’t official, but really, I think we’ve been married for a long time. At least since that first time you told me you loved me.”

“It’s been the same for me,” admitted Louis. “I always think of you as my husband, really.”

Smiling, Harry carefully stroked Louis’ face in the darkness with the back of his hand, feeling smooth skin beneath his fingers and treasuring the easy fluidity of the movement. He wouldn’t be able to do it with such ease soon; they would be constantly looking over each other’s shoulders, dealing with interruptions…he swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“I never asked,” Louis commented. “I suppose it was rather rude of me to assume…but I always thought the answer would be yes.”

“Ask me anyway,” Harry whispered.

Louis sat up, the duvet falling away from his bare chest. “I haven’t got a ring, you know.”

“I couldn’t wear it, even if you had. Just…please, just ask me. Let me give you my answer, and then I can tell people you’re my fiancé even if I don’t have the right to wear a ring when they lock me up again.”

Slipping out of bed, Louis crouched on one knee on the floor, and Harry sat up, swinging his legs over the edge. Louis took his hand and kissed it softly, taking a deep, calming breath as he readied himself, preparing to say the words that, in his mind, had already been spoken.

“Harry Edward Styles,” he said quietly. “I’ve loved you in sickness and in health…I’ve loved you when I had no right to, and then loved you when I did. I’ve given you everything I could ever give you, and I’ll give you everything all over again as soon as I have something else to give. I’d do anything you needed me to, and I’d do it gladly. I’ve broken the law for you, I’ve lost my family, and I’ve done things I never expected to do. I want to thank you for making me the happiest man alive, and when I was sad, I want to thank you for that as well. You gave meaning to my life, Harry. I don’t know if I can ever return that favour, but I’ll spend every last second of my life trying. I love you more than I thought it was possible to love anything.”

Harry waited, his eyes shining in the blackness, his cheeks wet with emotional tears.

“Will you marry me?” Louis murmured.

In the next second, he was lying flat on the floor with Harry on top of him, squishing him flat, pinning him down by the hair and raining kisses down on his neck with reckless desperation, clinging to him like he could never let go. Pausing for breath, Harry nuzzled the top of his head against Louis’ collarbone, tears falling against Louis’ skin with noiseless splashes, burning him with their heat.

“Yes,” Harry whispered.


	29. Chapter 29

Their last kiss was an emotional one, as Harry and Louis said goodbye for what could be their final time as an actual couple. The only witness was Anne, who was polite enough to turn away after she had hugged Harry goodbye so that they could spend their last few seconds in private. Louis kissed Harry quickly but desperately, knowing that it could be their final opportunity to be together without the risk of the door bursting open at any second. Harry’s lips were as gentle as they had ever been, caressing Louis’ mouth with a new level of intensity, a new kind of burn that came with a sense of reluctant acceptance, like they were giving up. Louis shook his head and pressed his mouth harder against Harry’s, a refusal. For a while they just melted into it, and Louis thought he would never let go – but Harry pulled away first with a heavy, shaky breath, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Louis,” he whispered. “It’s time.”

“No!” Louis wailed, clinging to him. “I can’t. I’m not ready.”

“Louis…”

“ _Please_ , Harry. Let’s run. Let’s just  _go_. We’ll run away from here, we’ll go and get married like we said, we’ll –” the tears were flowing like a waterfall down Louis’ face.

Harry opened his mouth helplessly, but it was Anne who placed a hand on Louis’ arm and pulled him away from her son with a sad kind of resignation.

“Louis. Come on. That isn’t helping.”

“But – but I…” Louis was crying so hard he could barely breathe.

“Don’t,” Harry pleaded. “We can still be together!”

“It won’t be  _us_ ,” Louis sobbed.

Harry stepped forwards and encircled him in the warmest, gentlest hug he could manage, while Louis cried helplessly against him. Anne watched in sad silence, quietly observing the embrace without comment. Louis couldn’t explain why, but he had a horrible sense that things could never be the same again when Harry was locked away in his cell again. Already people had started to be suspicious; he hadn’t mentioned it, but Liam had sent him a photocopy of a letter that had been doing the rounds in the office, questioning Louis and Harry’s relationship and whether or not it exceeded ‘acceptable boundaries’. If any more doubt was thrown onto the subject, one or the other of them would be relocated – and Louis was determined that it would be him. He couldn’t do that to Harry again.

“Of course it’ll be us,” Harry promised. “You really think anything is going to change? The only way it could change would be if we let it.” He kissed Louis carefully on the nose. “Be strong for me, okay?”

Louis closed his eyes, feeling his tears start to leak through his eyelashes, and he nodded. He didn’t  _feel_ strong: he felt like he was slowly shattering, falling to pieces with every breath.

“Wish me luck?” Harry asked, glancing at his mum with his forehead still pressed to Louis’.

“Good luck, sweetheart,” she said softly, squeezing his arm.

Harry turned back to Louis. “Lou?”

Louis’ eyes were still firmly closed. “Good luck,” he whispered.

Kissing him quickly on the forehead, Harry stepped away, took one last look, and then he turned and headed for the courtroom, his shoulders bowed as if he was in mourning. A wordless cry broke Louis’ control as he reached out and staggered after him, but Anne caught his arm and held him back, not hard, but firmly enough that he couldn’t move.

“You’ll only make matters worse,” she said quietly.

“Let me go! I have to – I can’t –” Louis struggled desperately to break free, to run after Harry and grab him, and then he would kiss him again and again until they both grew so old that they turned to dust, and the dust mingled together, and then maybe they would finally be close enough.

“Louis, please! I understand, but you can’t do this to him!”

“ _Harry_!” Louis screamed.

Harry flinched, stopping dead, and for one desperate, heart-stopping moment, Louis thought he might stop and turn around and come running back into his arms – but then Harry steadied himself, and he sped up as he jogged towards the room in his neatly pressed grey suit.

“ _HARRY_!”

A guard appeared in front of the courtroom, parting the crowd and taking Harry’s arm. They were too far away to see properly, but Louis thought Harry turned his head ever so slightly to look at him as the prison-guard clicked the handcuffs onto Harry’s wrists and led him through the door.

Louis’ screams lost all coherency at that moment: he collapsed to the ground, a sobbing, tearstained mess, and Anne dropped to the floor with him, trying to sit him up. Louis cried and cried, his tears soaking the road, and at that moment he thought that he might get arrested himself and locked up in Whitehall, so that the prisoners could beat him to death and he would finally get away from everything. 

 *  *  *  *  *  *

Louis had been stubbornly sitting cross-legged on the road in the same place Harry had left him for a good four hours. Anne had given up trying to move him and had sat resignedly on the pavement in her smart skirt, staring at the floor. They were both waiting, Anne with her chin resting on the palm of her hand and Louis just stubbornly glaring at the building like he could explode it into a pile of rubble just by glaring at it. Neither of them had spoken for an uncomfortably long time, and simmering resentment rolled off Louis in giant waves; clearly Anne was in his bad books for holding him back.

The door flew open.

Leaping to his feet with a gasp, Louis stared, stricken, at Harry’s figure in the doorway. His head was lowered, his hands behind his back as if restrained by handcuffs. Liam was stood beside him, a hand on his shoulder, holding him in place. A strangled croak wrenched its way from the pit of Louis’ stomach, tearing its way through his chest as he groaned and clapped a hand to his mouth. He thought he might be sick as he watched Harry take a slow, desolate step forwards, his eyes still glued to the pavement.

“ _No_ ,” he moaned.

Harry slowly raised his head – and then the most angelic, beautiful grin Louis had ever seen burst across his face like sunshine pouring out from behind a cloud. He dragged his unbound hands from behind his back, stepped away from Liam, and started sprinting towards Louis as fast as he could go, arms thrown out. Stunned, Louis barely had time to take a step back in shock before Harry had slammed into him hard enough to leave bruises, thrown him against the pavement and started kissing him roughly on every available patch of skin, leaving red marks all over his neck with the intensity of his embrace.

“Harry, what – ?” Louis managed to gasp.

“Manslaughter ruling,” Harry said breathlessly in between giving Louis a love-bite to be proud of, and trying to kiss him at the same time, which failed miserably. “They decided that I didn’t mean to kill him, and then with all my good behavior taken into account…they let me go.”

“Just like that?” Louis asked suspiciously.

“Yeah,” Harry said quickly, his whole face lit up with excitement. “But Lou…you know what this means?”

Louis was about to say that he knew  _exactly_ what that meant, and he wasn’t going to wait for it – and he was already reaching for the buttons of Harry’s shirt, tugging impatiently at them. He’d barely got the first one unfastened before he felt a restraining, motherly hand on his arm, and looked up to see Anne standing over him trying her best not to look amused.

“I think you’d better be careful, boys, bearing in mind that he’s only just been released. It’d be a shame now to be arrested for public nudity.”

Harry grinned sheepishly and shrugged at Louis, then reached for his hand and pulled them both to their feet. “Sorry, mum.”

“I think celebrations are needed!” she announced. “Now get your backsides in this lovely shiny car, and we’ll get home and break open the bubbly – before my son  _eats_ the only person who’s insured to drive it.” Anne tapped the Porsche with a smile.

Resisting the urge to mutter that he would quite  _like_ Harry to eat him, Louis put an arm around Harry’s shoulders instead and hugged him, hard. Harry touched the tips of their noses together, and they both smiled slightly – and Louis thought that if he ever let Harry leave his side again, he might just fall down and die.


	30. Chapter 30

Louis wasn’t sure how he had expected things to turn out, but certainly waking up every morning beside the most beautiful man in the universe wasn’t the outcome he had anticipated for his life. And he _definitely_ hadn’t foreseen that every morning that certain beautiful man would get up a few minutes before he did, just for the purpose of making him breakfast every morning – a gesture that never failed to make Louis melt into a puddle on the floor.

As he had hoped, Jay only lasted just over a month before she caved in – mainly due to pressure in the form of Lottie smuggling Louis’ sisters around to his house every other day, and the fact that they all took a shine to Harry – and grudgingly accepted Harry as her future son-in-law, although Louis knew that with the best will in the world, she would never be as comfortable with the arrangement as Anne was. However, the two mums couldn’t help getting on even if Jay disapproved of Harry, and Louis hoped that one day maybe she would see things from his point of view. Harry was so sweet to her whenever she came round; he never gave up, and Louis was proud of him for trying so hard.

He bought Harry a ring – not a large one, because he couldn’t afford it, but a lovely ring all the same – and when he wordlessly got down on one knee one afternoon at Gemma’s birthday party and slipped it on Harry’s finger without a sound, the only person who cried more than Harry was Anne, who ended up mopping her streaming eyes on the tablecloth and sobbing her heart out about how her baby was growing up, and how adorable it was.

They didn’t rush the wedding plans; both of them were determined to make it perfect when they tied the knot, and after an anticipated wait of ten years, a few extra months here and there didn’t seem to make much difference.

Harry soon slotted perfectly into Louis’ everyday life. Thankfully, seeing as Harry was no longer a prisoner, Louis didn’t lose his job, and he and Liam continued to be amazing friends, along with Niall and Zayn, who Harry cheerfully went to visit every few weeks.

Louis had his dream job, an amazing house, more family and friends than he ever could have dreamed of (Harry had an awful lot of mates; when they all crammed into his tiny flat, it was like being a baked bean in a whole can of them).

There was only one other thing that Louis Tomlinson needed to make his life perfect –

Oh, wait. He already had him.


End file.
